^icket-of-Leave 


Tom  Taylor 


THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 


CENTRAL  CIRCULATION  BOOKSTACKS 

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Ticket-of- 
Le&.ve  Mdoi. 


A DRAMA  IN  FOUR  ACTS 


By  Tom  Taylor,  Esq. 

c4uthor  of  Our  c4mertca,n  Cousin/^  *'The  FooCs  ^l^enge/* 
i etc* 


PHILADELPHIA 

THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

1918 


, I r 

CAST  OF  CHARACTERS. 


Olympic  Theatre^  Winter  Garden^ 

London^  1863.  New  York^  1864. 

"^ladf  Lancashire  jj  Neville Mr.  W.  J.  Florence 

A-i"* H.  D.v.„po,. 

Hawks  haw  [a  Detective] Mr.  Horace  Wigan Mr.  Hagan.  ^ 

Melter  Moss. Mr.  G.  Vincent Mr.  Bland. 

Green  Jones Mr.  R.  Soutar Mr.  V.  Bowers, 

Mr.  [a  Bill  Broker] Mr.  Maclean -_Mr.  Hind. 

Sam  Willoughby .Miss  Raynham Mrs.  Floyd. 

Maltby Mr.  H.  Cooper Mr.  T.  Morris. 

Burton Mr.  Franks Mr.  Smith. 

May  Edwards __Miss  KateSaville Mrs.  Chanfrau. 

E77iily  St.  Evremond Miss  Hughes Mrs.  W.  J.  Florence. 

Mrs.  Willoughby Mrs.  Stephens Mrs.  Hind. 

Guests f Navvies^ 

Time — The  Present  Day.  An  interval  of  three  years  and  a half  between  the 
First  and  Second  Acts,  and  intervals  of  six  and  four  months  between  the 
Second  and  Third,  and  Third  and  Last  Acts,  respectively. 


EXITS  AND  ENTRANCES. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  R.  D.  Right  Door;  L.  D.  Left  Door;  S.  E.  Second  Entrance; 
U.  E.  Upper  Entrance;  M.  D.  Middle  Door, 


RELATIVE  POSITIONS. 

R.  means  Right;  L.  Left;  C.  Centre;  R.  C.  Right  of  Centre;  L.  C.  Left  of  Centre^ 


COSTUMES. 


Melter  Moss-jrirst  Aa.-  Rusty  brown  overcoat,  shabby  black  trousers  low 
crowned  black  hat.  TAird  Aa.-  Old-fashioned  black  coat  and  troi^' 
low-crowned  black  hat.  Fourth  Act:  Ditto,  and  drab  hat 

James  Dalton.-^.W/  Act:  Drab  coat,  check  trousers  and  'vest  drab  hat 
ir  Act:  Black  frock  coat  and  vest,  grey  trousers,  black  hat.  Fourth 

BRiElfv  ‘’•°"^ers,  light  vest,  wide-awake  hat. 

with'w  ri  X''  drab  Kersey  trousers,  drab  hat 

with  black  hat-band.  Second  Act : Velveteen  coat,  grey  vest  and  trousers 

trousers,  black  hat! 

rourth  Act : Fustian  suit,  wide-awake  hat, 

H AWKSHAt^-^i^W  Act:  Tweed  summer  suit,  trousers,  and  boots,  wide-awake 
hat.  r/ttn/ Suit  of  black  (eccentric).  Fourth  Act : First  Dress 
cord  breeches,  waistcoat  with  red  sleeves,  fur  cap.  Second  Dress-hxovtn 
coat  and  overalls,  wide-awake  hat. 

Green  JoNES.-First  Act:  Full  evening  suit  and  light  paletot.  5.W  • 

bhabby  morning  gown,  smoking  cap,  and  check  trousers.  Fhzrot  Act: 
Blue  frock  coat,  white  vest,  drab  trousers,  black  hat.  Fourth  Act : Blue 
(butcher’s)  coat  and  white  sleeves,  white  apron,  check  trousers,  greasy 
black  hat.  ^ ^ 

Sam  W1LLOUGHBY.-.S.W  Act:  Old  paletot,  check  trousers  and  vest,  high- 
lows,  cloth  cap.  Third  Act:  Tweed  suit.  Fourth  Act:  Green  coat  and 
vest,  drab  trousers,  black  hat. 

Mr.  Gibson.— Act : Frock  coat,  light  vest,  dark  trousers.  Third  Act  ■ 
Ditto.  Fourth  Act : Ditto. 

Maltby.— ..4c/.'  Fancy  summer  suit.  Fourth  Act : Tweed  coat  buff 
vest,  light  trousers,  white  apron. 

May  Edwards.-^iW  ^c/.-  Light  cotton  gown,  small  shawl,  black  lace  net 
tied  over  head.  Second  Act : Neat  grey  dress,  white  apron.  J'hird  Act : 
White  muslin,  trimmed  with  mauve  ribbons.  Fourth  Act:  Drab  stuif 
gown,  dark  shawl  anu  bonnet,  and  apron. 

Emily.— Act:  Rich  silk  dress,  lace  shawl,  pink  bonnet.  Second  Act  • 
Showy  muslin  dress,  hair  a /a  Francaise.  Third  Act : Spotted  muslin  and 
hat.  Fourth  Act : Pink  muslin,  shawl,  and  bonnet 

Mrs.  Willoughby.-5cc.«</^c/.-  Red  cotton  gown,  small  shawl,  white  apron, 

TV  ite  cap  with  black  ribbons.  Third  Ac-t : Green  silk  dress,  showy  shawl, 
and  bonnet.  Fourth  Act : Merino  dress,  shawl,  bonnet  cap. 


The  Ticket-of-Leave  Man. 


ACT  I. 

Scene — The  Bellevue  Tea  Gar  dens  y in  the  south-west  suburbs  of  London, 
Summer  evening.  Front  of  the  tavern  with  ornamental  verandah 
up  L. ; arbours  along  the  stage,  R.  and  L.,  with  tables  and  seats;  trees, 
shrubs,  statues,  &^c.,  at  the  back,  with  ornamental  orchestra  and 
concert  room. 

(Parties,  male  and  female,  seated  at  the  different  tables,  R.  and  L.; 
Waiters  serving  refreshments.  Music  heard- off.  As  the  cur- 
tain rises  the  parties  are  heard  giving  their  orders  ; Malt  BY 
moving  about  with  an  eye  to  the  Guests,  Waiters,  &»c.;  two  De- 
tectives at  table,  up  L.  C.) 

1st  Party,  (R.)  Three  hots  with 

Waiter,  (serving  another  table.)  Yes,  sir.  Brandy  and  soda  for  you,  sir. 
2^/  Party,  (L.)  Tea  for  four — shrimps  and  a muffin. 

Waiter.  Coming ! (serving  another  party i)  Pot  of  half-and-half  for 
you,  sir.  (At  Detectives  tablei)  Two  sherry  negus,  two  shillings.  ( Takes 
moneyi) 

Maltby,  (moving  about.)  Now,  James,  three  teas  and  a muffin  in  5. — 
Jackson,  money  in  6.  (To  a Guest.)  Uncommon  thirsty  weather,  sir, 
uncommon.  (To  another  party  i)  If  I might  recommend  a cobbler  for  the 
lady,  sir,  delicious  refreshment  for  July.  Now,  James,  look  after  them 
brandies  in  3.  (Moves  off,  L.  u.  E.) 

Enter  Hawkshaw,  r.  ist  e.  ; he  strolls  carelessly  to  the  Detectives'  tabk^ 
then  in  an  undertone,  and  without  looking  at  them. 
Hawkshaw.  Report. 

\st  Detective,  (in  sa7ne  tone,  and  without  looking  at  Hawkshaw).  All 
right. 

Hawk,  (same  tone.)  Here 's  old  Moss.  Keep  an  eye  on  him.  (Strolls 
off,  L.) 

Enter  Moss,  R. ; sits  at  table,  R.  ist  E. 

Moss,  (to  the  Waiter).  Good  evening,  James.  Four  penn’orth  of 
brandy,  if  you  please,  James,  (sit  chair,  R.)  and  a little  peppermint. 
(Coughs,  and  looks  aroundi)  Tiger  not  here  yet.  (Bell  ring  si) 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act 


(C.)  The  concert  bell,  ladies  and  gentlemen— in  the  Rotunds 
to  the  concert  room:)  The  first  talent-selections  from  the  bes 
classical  music,  and  original  nigger  melodies.  This  way. 

lExit  Maltby,  towards  concert  room,  r.;  most  of  the  fartie 
move  off,  leaving  Detectives,  and  a Guest  here  and  there^^ 

Enter  Dalton,  C.,from  l. 


Moss,  {stirring  and  sipping  his  brandy  and  peppermint:)  Warm  am 
comfortable.  Tiger  ought  to  be  here  before  this.  {As  he  stirs,  his  eye  fall 
on  the  spoon;  he  takes  it  up,  weighs  it  in  his  fingersi)  Uncommon  nea 
article  might  take  in  a good  many  people— plated,  though,  plated. 

{While  Moss  ts  looking  at  the  spoon,  Dalton  takes  his  seat  a, 
M oss's  tabhy  unobserved  by  him?^ 


Dalton y (l.  of  table y to  Moss.)  Not  worth  flimping,  eh  7 

MosSy  (r.  of  tabhy  starting,  but  not  recognizing  kim.)  Eh,  did  you 
speak  to  me,  sir } ' ^ 

Dal.  What } Don’t  twig  me  ? Then  it  is  a good  get  up.  {He  lifts  his 
hat,  and  gives  him  a peculiar  look.)  Eh,  Melter.?  | 

Moss,  {recognizing  him.)  What,  Tiger!  ’ 

DM.  Stow  that.  There’s  no  tigers  here.  My  name’s  Downy;  you' 
mind  that.  John  Downy,  from  Rotherham,  jobber  and  general  dealer  ' 
Mai.  {coming  down  to  Dalton.)  Now,  sir,  what  can  I have  the  pleasure 
of  ordering  you,  sir  } 

Dal,  My  good  friend,  Mr.  Moss,  here  insists  on  standing  a bottle  of 
sherry. 

Moss,  (in  alarm i)  No,  no  ! ^ 

Dal,  What,  you  will  make  it  champagne  } very  well  I ’m  not  proud,  (to  \ 
Maltby)  I like  it  dry,  mind,  and  none  of  your  home-brewed;  I buy  my'! 
rhubarb-juice  at  the  greengrocer  s.  ]^Exit  Maltby,  l.  ; 

Moss,  Come,  Ti  (Dalton  gives  him  a look,  which  stops  him,)  A j 

joke  s a joke.  But  a bottle  of  real  champagne  at  ten  and  six 

Dal,  That  s serious^  eh  } Well,  I Ve  taken  a serious  turn ; always  do 
when  it  s low  tide  here.  (Pointing  to  his  pocket,) 

Moss,  Down  on  your  luck,  eh.^ 

Dal,  (shrugs  his  shoulders,)  The  crushers  are  getting  to  know  too 
much ; then  there ’s  the  Nailer ’s  been  after  me. 

Moss,  What,  Hawkshaw,  the  cutest  detective  in  the  force  ? 

Dal.  He  s taken  his  oath  on  the  Bow  Street  Office  testament  to  be 

square  with  me  for  that  Peckham  job (hesitates,) 

Moss,  Ah ! 

Dal.  When  I spoiled  his  mate.  {Shrugs  his  shouldersi) 

Moss,  {shaking  his  head.)  Ah,  I always  said  that  life  preserver  of 
yours  would  be  doing  somebody  a mischief. 


SCEN«  I.] 


TICKET-OF'LEAVE  MAN. 


7 


Re-enter  Maltby,  l.  U.  e.,  with  champagne  and  glasses. 

Dal  Hush,  here’s  the  tipple. 

Mai  (at  back  of  table,  uncorking  and  pouring  out:)  And  Aough  Isay 

t Aere  ain’t  a better  bottle  opened  at  Buckingham  Palace.  Ten  and  six. 

VIr  Moss— there ’s  a color— there ’s  a bouquet ! 

Moss,  (grumbling  as  he  pay  si)  There  ought  to  be  at  the  price. 
m,l.  (soins  Now.  )ack»„.  uk=  orders  „ 

Dal.  (drinking:)  Ah,  tidy  swizzle ! 

Moss.  And  so  you  ’re  keeping  dark,  eh  ? , 

Dal  Yes,  pottering  about  on  the  sneak,  flimping  or  smashing  a little 
when  i get  th^  chance  ; but  the  Nailer ’s  too  hard  on  me.  There  s no  pick- 
ing up  a gentlemanly  livelihood.  Hang  me,  if  I have  n t often  thought 

^'"mZ  ain’t  so  bad  as  that  yet.  (Looking  around  and 

speaking  cautiouslf.)  Now,  I have  the  beautifulest  lot  Bank  of  E^land 
flimsies  that  ever  came  out  of  Birmingham.  It  s the  safest  pape 
wTrk  and  you  should  have  it  cheap,  dirt  cheap,  and  credit  till  you  d 

^^^Dal  And  how  about  the  lagging  ? If  I’m  nailed,  it  s a Jifer. 

Moss  Bless  you,  I would  n’t  have  you  chance  it ; but  in  the  high  society 
you  keep,  you  could  surely  pick  up  a flat  to  put  off  the  paper. 

Dal.  I ’ve  the  very  man.  I gave  him  an  appointment  here,  for  this 

”5  Did  you,  though!  How  pat  things  come  about!  ^ho  is  he^?^^ 

Dal.  A Lancashire  lad;  an  only  son,  he  tells  me. 
spoiled  him  as  long  as  they  lived,  left  him  a f^ew  " 

got  the  collar  over  his  head,  and  is  kicking  ’em  down,  seeing  life.  (Laughs^ 
ind  life  in  London  ain’t  to  be  seen  without  paying  at  the  doors,  eh. 

^^Moss  Ha,  ha,  ha!  and  you  ’re  selling  him  the  bill  of  the  play. 

*r  I m pairing  hta  up  to  a thing  or  two-^ards.  stottlo,  b.ltoda 
sporting  houses,  sparring  houses,  night  houses,  casinos-every  short  cut  t 
the  devfl,  and  the  bottom  of  a flat’s  purse.  He ’s  as  green  as  a leek,  and  as 
soft  as  new  cheese;  no  vice,  steady  to  ride  or  drive,  and  runs  in  a snaffle. 

^^mIss  (rising:)  Oh,  beautiful,  beautiful ! (Rubs  his  hands.)  It  would  be 
a sin  to’ drop  Lch  a beautiful  milch  cow  ! Suppose  we  pumped  him  m 

Thank  you.  I know  your  partnership  articles ; me  all  the  kicks 
and;'^  all  the  half-pence.  But  if  I can  work  him  to  ^ ^ 

flimsies  of  yours,  I don’t  mind ; remember,  though,  I won  t go  higher  th 

fifteen  bob  for  a fiver. 


8 


ticket-of-leave  man. 


[Act 


Moss  What,  only  fifteen  bob ! and  such  beauties,  too.  they’d  take 
I’d  better  chance  it  myself!  Only  fifteeS 

mL  ^T'akesupthenewspaper,andsitsattabU,^ 

Moss.  I must  take  a turn,  and  think  it  over.  {Goin^,  returns  's  I 

bring  you  the  flimsies.  Come,  you ’ll  allow  me  a pound  ^ 

Dal  Bid  me  down  again,  and  I stand  on  ten  shillings-now  you  kno 
It  s like  It  or  lump  it.  {He  returns  to  his  paper.) 

Moss,  {holding  up  his  hands.)  Oh.  dear!  oh  dear!  What  it  is 
with  people  that  have  no  consciences ! \Exii 

Bri.  {heard  off,  L.  u.  E.)  A bottle  of  champagne.  lad.  Ind  'half 
dozen  Cabanas — and  look  sharp ! 

Dal.  {looking  up  from  paper  if  Here ’s  my  pigeon ! 

Enter  Brierly.  l.  u. 


•E..-,  he  looks  feverish  and  dishevelled,  and  t 
dressed  in  an  exaggerated  sporting  style. 

Dal.  {laying  the  paper  down:)  Ah.  Bob.  up  to  time,  as  usual 
Brierly.  Aye!  nobody  shall  say  Bob  Brierly  craned  while  he  coulc 
keep  t going.  ( Waiter  brings  champagne  and  cigars.)  Here-you— 

clean  glass  for  my  friend.  {Crossing  to  L.  of  table,  l ) 

Dal.  {pointing  to  Moss’s  bottlei)  I ’ve  had  my  whack  already. 

Bn.  Nay.  lad.  you  can  find  room  for  another  glass. 

^ {Waiter  brings  another  glass— fours  out  wine  ) 

cniThis  flritTas"/"'”  “ I Ve  „e.rty  lived 

yof 

I^octor ? Nay ; I’m  as  game  as  a pebble,  and  as  stell  as  a tree » 
{Fills  Dalton  e,  glass  with  a shaking  hand:,  Curse  the  glass  ! Here— 

y®  did.  {Looking  round  uneasily.)  And  now.  I don’t  know  how 
U is  {nervously  looking  down  near  the  table.)  No.  no.  it ’s  nothing ! 
Here,  have  a ^veed.  {Offers  cigar i) 

tt^  Dalton  lights  his  cigar  at 

KRIERLYS.  the  shaking  of  Brierly’s  hand  becomes  more  apparent) 
Come.  come.  Master  Bob.  you  ’re  getting  shaky-this  won’t  do. 

^ri.  It  s that  waking-waking.  If  I could  only  sleep.  {Earnestly:, 

htrr’T''  ‘ ^ ‘^l^Ap  to  a good  night’s  rest.>  I used  to  sleep 

like  a top  down  at  Glossop.  But  in  this  great  big  place,  since  I ’ve  been 

.vioTn  hand  across  his 

eyes)  I don  t know  how  it  is-I  get  no  rest-and  when  I do.  it’s  worse 
than  none-there  s great  black  crawling  things  about  me.  (Gulfs  dawn  a 

f ass  of  wine.)  I say,  Downy ; do  yo’  know  how  a chap  feels  when  h^-  ’- 
going  mad? 


Scene  i.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


9 


DaL  I know  the  symptoms  of  del,  trem,  pretty  well;  sit  down,  sit 
down.  First  and  foremost,  (^puts  him  a chair)  I prescribe  a deviled  bis- 
cuit— I ’ll  doctor  one  for  you.  {Calling,)  Waiter ! a plate  of  biscuit,  toasted 
hot — butter  and  cayenne.  (Brierly  hides  his  head  in  his  hands;  aside, 
looking  at  him  contemptuously i)  The  horrors ! ah,  he ’s  seen  too  much  of 
life  lately.  Bob,  are  you  in  cash  ? 

Bri,  Welly  cleaned  out;  I’ve  written  to  the  lawyer-chap,  down  at 
Glossop — him  that ’s  got  all  my  property  to  manage,  yo’  know — for  more 
brass. 

Dal,  {aside)  Now,  if  I 'd  a few  of  Moss’s  fivers — here ’s  a chance. 
You  must  bank  with  me  till  the  brass  comes.  Delighted  to  lend  you  a 
sovereign — five — ten — as  much  as  you  want. 

Enter  Moss,  R.  ist  E. 

Bri,  Nay,  will  yo’  though ! That ’s  friendly  of  you.  Here ’s  luck — and 
sink  the  expense  ! {He  pours  out  wine,  standing  in  front  of  table) 

Moss,  {aside  to  Dalton).  I ’ve  got  the  flimsies— I ’ll  do  it  at  seven  ten. 

Dal.  {aside)  Fork  over. 

Moss,  {aside,  giving  him  a roll  of  notes)  There ’s  fifty  to  begin  with — 
twenty,  a tenner,  and  four  fives.  Plant  the  big  ’un  first. 

Enter  Hawkshaw,  C.,  meets  Moss  at  back  of  chair ; approaches  the 
table  where  the  Detectives  are;  one  of  them  nods  towards  Moss 
a7id  Dalton. 

Moss,  Good  evening,  gentlemen,  {crosses  m front  to  L.)  you  ’ll  find  my 
friend,  Mr.  Downy,  excellent  company,  sir.  Very  improving  for  a young 
man  from  the  country.  {Aside)  That ’s  an  honestly  earned  seven-pun- 
ten  ! l^Exit  Moss,  L.  1st  E. 

( Waiter  brings  biscuits  and  cayenne) 

Dal,  Now,  for  your  devil.  Master  Bob.  {As  he  prepares  the  biscuit, 
Hawkshaw  approaches  the  table  and  takes  up  the  paper  which  Dalton 
has  put  down  ; Dalton  pushes  the  biscuit  across  to  Brierly.)  Try  that  1 

Hawk,  Beg  pardon,  sir,  but  if  the  paper ’s  not  in  hand 

{Sits  at  back  of  table,  L.) 

Dal.  {rudely,  and  pocketing  the  note  hastily)  Eh,  sir.^ 

Hawk,  {sitting  down  coolly  at  the  table  and  unfolding  the  paper)  Pa- 
pers very  dull  lately;  don’t  you  think  so,  sir? 

Dal,  {assuming  a country  dialect)  I never  trouble  ’em  much,  sir,  ex- 
:ept  for  the  Smithfield  Market  List,  in  the  way  of  business. 

Hawk.  Ah,  much  my  own  case.  They  put  a fellow  up  to  the  dodges 
)f  the  town,  though ; for  instance,  these  cases  of  bad  notes  offered  at  the 
)ank  lately.  ( Watching  him  close) 

Dal.  I never  took  a bad  note  in  my  life. 

Hawk,  You 've  been  lucky— in  the  Smithfield  line,  too,  I think  you  said, 
n the  jobbing  way,  may  I ask,  sir,  or  in  the  breeding? 


lO 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act 


Dal  Sometimes  one,  and  sometimes  t’ other— always  ready  to  turn  t 
nimble  shilling.  ^ 

Hawk,  My  own  rule. 

Dal.  May  I ask  your  business.^ 

Hawk.  The  fancy  iron  trade.  My  principle  is,  to  get  as  much  of  n 
stock  on  other  people’s  hands  as  I can.  From  the  country,  I think? 

Dal.  Yes,  Yorkshire. 

Hawk.  Ah  ! I ’m  Durham  myself ; and  this  young  gent  ? 

Bn.  What  s that  to  you  ? {Pushing  away  the  biscuit)  It ’s  no  use- 
I can  t swallow  a morsel. 

Hawk.  From  Lancashire,  I see;  why,  we  are  quite  neighbors  when  v 
are  at  home,  and  neighbors  ought  to  be  neighborly  in  this  overgrown  cit 
so  I hope  you  ’ll  allow  me  to  stand  treat;  give  it  a name,  gentlemen. 

Dal.  (roughly.)  Thank  you,  I never  drink  with  strangers. 

Bn.  They ’ve  a saying  down  in  Glossop,  where  I came  from,  if  vo 
want  a welcome,  wait  to  be  axed. 

Hawk.  Ah,  quite  right  to  be  cautious  about  the  company  you  kee 

young  man.  Perhaps  I could  give  you  a bit  of  good  advice 

Bri.  Thank  ye  ; I’m  not  in  the  way  o’  takin’  good  advice.  ! 

Hawk.  Well,  don’t  take  bad ; and  you  won’t  easy  find  a worse  advise 
than  your  thieving  companion  here. 

Dal.  (firing  up)  Eh  ? what  do  you  mean  by  that  ? ' 

Hawk.  Not  you,  sir.  (Tapping  the  champagne  bottle)  This  gentlema 
here.  He  robs  people  of  their  brains,  their  digestion,  and  their  conscience 
to  say  nothing  of  their  money.  But  since  you  won’t  allow  me  to  stan 
anything 

Dal.  And  wish  to  keep  ourselves  to  ourselves.  ; 

Bn.  And  think  your  room  a deal  better  than  your  company — meanir 
no  offense  you  know. 

Hawk,  {rises  and  crosses  to  C.)  Not  in  the  least.  If  gentlemen  can‘: 
please  themselves  in  a public  establishment ! 1 11  wish  you  a very  goo( 
evening.  (Aside.)  A plant ; I ’ll  keep  an  eye  on  ’em  ! [Exit,  R.  u.  E 
Dal.  (aside)  T don’t  half  like  the  look  of  that  fellow.  There ’s  some 
thing  about  his  eye  I must  make  out  if  Moss  knows  him ; Bob,  will  yoi 
excuse  me  for  five  minutes  } 

Bn.  Don  t be  long ; I can’t  a-bear  my  own  company. 

Dal.  I ’ve  only  a word  to  say  to  a customer.  [Exit  L.  ist  E, 

Hawkshaw  re-appoars  c.,  watches  Dalton  off,  and  follows  him,  L.  2d 
E.,  after  a moment* s interval, 

Bri.  (goes  to  chair  R.  of  table,  L.)  And  I ’ll  try  to  sleep  till  he  comes 
back.  If  I could  only  sleep  without  dreaming ! I never  close  my  eyes  but 
m back  at  Glossop  wi’  the  old  folks  at  home — ’t  mother  fettlin’  about  me. 


Scene  i.J 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


II 


IS  she  used  when  I was  a brat — and  father  stroking  my  head,  and  callin* 
ne  his  bonny  boy — noa,  noa — I musn’t  think  o’  them — not  here — or  I shall 
ro  mad.  {Sinking  his  head  in  his  iiands,  and  sobbing,) 

{Music — other  Guests  come  in,  R.  and  L.,  and  sit  at  the  other  tables.) 
Enter  Maltby,  c:.,fro7n  L. 

Mai.  Now  then,  James.  Jackson  take  orders.  Interval  of  ten  minutes 
illowed  for  refreshment.  Give  your  orders,  gents,  give  your  orders.  The 
kigger  melodists  will  shortly  commence  their  unrivalled  entertainment,  pre- 
iminary  to  the  orchestral  selection  from  Beethoven’s  Pastoral  Symphony. 

Snter  May  Edwards,  with  her  guitar,  r.  u.  e.  ; the  Waiters  move 
about,  bringing  refreshments  to  tables  ; VLax  goes  down,  R. 

May.  If  they  ’ll  only  let  me  sing  to-night.  {Tuning guitar  1) 

Mai,  Halloa,  halloa ! what ’s  this  ? Oh,  it ’s  you,  is  it,  Edwards  ? Come, 
'm  glad  to  see  you  ’re  about  again,  but  I can’t  have  you  cadging  here. 
Jlfay.  Oh,  Mr.  Maltby,  if  you  ’ll  only  allow  me  to  try  one  song,  and  go 
ound  after  it,  I ’ll  stop  as  soon  as  ever  they  ring  up. 

Mai.  Well,  well,  you  was  always  a well-behaved  girl,  so,  for  once  in  a 
/ay.  {Crosses  to  L.) 

May.  Oh,  thank  you,  thank  you,  and  if  you  should  have  an  opening  for 

le,  in  the  room,  sir,  when  I ’m  quite  strong  again 

Mai,  No  chance  of  it,  we  ’re  chuck  full — a glut  of  talent ; but  if  I should 
e able  to  find  room  for  you  in  the  chorus,  and  to  double  Miss  Plantagenet 
/hen  she ’s  in  the  tantrums,  ten  shillings  a week,  and  find  your  own  ward- 
Dbe,  you  know — I ’m  not  the  man  to  shrink  from  a generous  action.  Now, 
len,  Jackson,  money  in  4.  \Exit  Maltby,  l.  u.  e. 

(May  sings  ; after  her  song  she  goes  round  the  tables;  all  repulse  herl) 
1st  Party,  (r.)  The  concert’s  quite  enough,  without  caterwauling  be- 
•veen  the  acts. 

2d  Party,  (r.)  We’ve  no  small  change,  miss.  Waiter!  bottle  pale 
herr>\ 

'^d  Party,  (L.)  Be  off! 

£ifth  Party,  (l.)  Now  then,  what  *s  the  girl  gaping  at  Can’t  you  take 
n answer  ? 

May,  {to  Brierly.)  Please,  sir 

Bri.  (l.)  Be  off  with  thee,  lass,  I ’m  in  no  mood  for  music. 

May,  {suppressing  her  tears  1)  Not  a penny ! 

Bri.  Stop,  lass;  {feels  in  his  pocket)  not  a farden.  Where’s  Downy? 
ome  here,  what ’s ’t  crying  at  ? 

M ay.  I 've  not  taken  anything  to-day,  and  I ’ve  not  been  well  lately. 
^he  turns  faint,  and  grasps  a seat  to  support  herself  1) 

Bri.  {rising.)  Poor  thing ; here,  {places  chair)  sit  thee  down ; why  thee 
oks  welly  clemmed.  Try  and  eat  a bit.  {He gives  her  a biscuit  1) 


12 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Aci 


{She  tries  to  swallow. 


May,  Thank  you,  sir,  you  're  very  kind. 
cannotl)  If  I had  a drink  of  water. 

Bri.  Wather?  {at  bad:  of  table,  L.)  Nay,  a sup  o’  this  will  hear 
thee  up.  ( Tries  to  give  her  wine  fro7n  his  bottle.)  Not  a drop ! ( 

loohs  around  and  sees  IV alter  crossing  from  l.  to  R.,  bringing  a decc 
ter  of  sherry.)  Here,  that  ’ll  do.  ( Takes  decanter.) 

W ait.  Beg  pardon,  sir;  it ’s  for  No.  i. 

Bri.  I 'se  No.  i. 

1st  P arty,  (r.)  Holloa,  sir ! that 's  my  sherry. 

Bri,  No,  it 's  mine. 

1st  Party.  I 11  let  you  know — {he  rises  and  turns  up  his  cuffs  • Brier 
looks  at  him)  No,  I ’ll  see  the  landlord.  {Exit  ist  Party,  l.  u. 

Bri.  There,  lass.  {Pours  out  a glass  for  M.k\)  Sup  that.  ' 

May,  {drin/es.)  It ’s  wine. 

Bri.  Sup  it  up. 

M ay.  It  makes  me  so  warm. 

Bri.  It’ll  put  some  heart  i’  thee.  Sup  again,  thou ’lit  tune  thy  pip 
like  a mavis  on  that.  Now  try  and  eat  a bit. 

M ay.  Oh,  sir,  you  ’re  too  good. 

Brt.  Good  ? me  ! nay 

Enter  Maltby  l.  u.  's..,  followed  by  isT  Party. 

Mai.  (c.,  soothingly)  Merely  a lark,  depend  upon  it.  The  gentlemt 
will  apologize.  {To  Brierly.)  The  gent  who  ordered  that  bottle  . 
sherry 

Bri.  (l.  C.)  Let  him  ordther  another,  I 11  pay  for  it. 

Mai.  The  gent  can’t  say  fairer.  {Calls)  Bottle  sherry,  Jackson ; seve 
and  SIX,  sir. 

Bri.  Here.  {Feels  in  his  pockets)  Eh .?  score  it  down. 

Mai.  We  ain’t  in  the  habit  of  scoring,  sir;  not  to  strangers. 

Bri.  Then  yo ’d  betther  begin  ; my  name ’s  Bob  Brierly. 

Mai.  Your  name  may  be  Bob  Brierly,  sir,  or  Bob  Anybody,  sir,  bt 
when  people  take  wine  in  this  establishment,  sir— especially  other  party' 
wine— they  pay  for  it.  7 t-  j 

Dalton  re-afpears  behind,  C.,from  L.  u.  E. 

Brt.  A tell  yo’  I ’ll  pay  as  soon  as  my  friend  comes  back. 

Mai.  Oh,  your  friend  ! A regular  case  of  bilk 

mLI)  parties  gather  round  frem 

May,  {frightened)  Oh,  please,  sir;  please  Mr.  Maltby. 

\st  Party.  It ’s  too  bad. 

^d Party.  Why  can’t  you  pay  the  man.? 

Zd  Party.  Police ! 


•GENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


^3 


Dal.  {coming forwardy  L.)  Halloa!  what’s  all  this? 

Bri.  (C.,  seizing  hi^ni)  Here,  Downy,  you  lend  me  a sovereign  to  pay 
lis  chap. 

Dal  Sorry  I have  n’t  change,  but  we  ’ll  manage  it  directly.  ( To  Malt- 
Y.)  It 's  all  right.  I ’ll  be  bail  for  my  friend  here. 

Mai.  (R.)  Your  word ’s  quite  enough,  sir.  Any  friend  of  Mr.  Moss’s 

Dal.  Come,  Bob,  don’t  be  a fool,  take  a turn  and  cool  yourself.  {Draw- 
ng  him  off;  aside.)  Now  to  plant  the  big  ’un.  [Draws  him  L.  i st  E. 

Mai.  {to  Guests)  Sorry  for  this  disturbance,  gents ; quite  out  of  keep- 
ig  with  the  character  of  my  establishment.  {Bell—musiCy  piano)  But 
be  concert  is  about  to  re-commence ; that  way,  gents,  to  the  Rotunda. 
Guests  go  offy  C.;  fiercely  to  May.)  This  is  all  along  of  your  cadging, 
'dwards,  sitting  down  to  drink  with  a promiscuous  party. 

Mayy  (R.)  Oh,  I ’m  so  sorry — he  never  thought — it  was  all  his  kindness. 

Mai.  (L.,  sneeringly)  Kindness  I much  kindness  he ’d  have  shown  you, 
t you ’d  been  old  and  ugly.  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself. 

Mayy  {indignantly)  You  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  yourself  1 it  is  cruel 
a you  to  insult  a helpless  and  friendless  girl  like  me. 

Mai.  Insult ! ho,  ho,  ha,  here ’s  a lark  ! A half-starved  street-singer 
heeking  me  in  my  own  establishment ! You ’d  better  apply  for  an  engage- 
nent,  you  had,  on  the  first  vacancy.  {Looking  off)  Hollo  ! what ’s  that  ? 
arriage  company ! Heavy  swells  on  the  lark ; white  ties  and  pink  bonnets ! 
)how  the  ladies  and  gentlemen  to  the  Rotunda,  Jackson.  [Extty  R.  C, 

Mayy  {smks  down  at  one  of  the  tableSy  L.)  I ’m  foolish  to  be  angry ; my 
)read  depends  on  such  as  he.  Oh,  if  I could  only  get  away  from  this 
veary  work  1 if  some  kind  lady  would  take  me  in.  I m quick  at  my  needle  j 
)ut  who ’d  take  me,  a vagabond,  without  a friend  to  speak  for  me  ? I ’m  all 
ilone  in  the  world  now.  It ’s  strange  how  people’s  life  is  made  for  ’em.  I 
;ee  so  many  girls,  nicely  dressed,  well  off,  with  parents  to  love  and  care 
or  ’em.  I can’t  bear  it  sometimes,  to  see  them,  and  then  think  what  I am, 
ind  what’s  before  me.  {Puts  her  hand  to  her  face)  I’m  a silly  girl ; it  s 
ill  because  I ’m  so  weak  from  the  fever.  There’s  nothing  like  keeping  a 
^ood  heart.  How  good  he  was  to  me ; it  was  all  through  me  he  got  into 
his  trouble ; but  I must  n’t  think  of  him.  Ah,  {looking  offyV..  ist  E.)  there ’s 
L pleasant  looking  party  yonder.  Come  along  old  friend,  you ’ve  to  earn 
ny  supper  yet.  [Takes  her  guitar  y and  exity  R.  ist  E, 

^nter  Green  Jones  and  Emily  St.  Evremond,  r.  u.  e.  ; he  wears 
evening  costume : blacky  white  tiey  Gibus  haty  &^c. ; she  is  gaily  dressed : 
pink  bonnety  &^c. 

Greeny  {speaking  as  he  comes  down)  Excuse  me,  Emily ! Anything 
)ut  the  Rotunda  ; if  your  mama  likes  the  music,  let  her  enjoy  it. 

Emily.  I ’m  sure  the  music ’s  very  nice,  Mr.  Jones. 

Green.  Mr.  JoneSy  Miss  St.  Evremond  ! What  have  I done  to  be  kept 


14 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [Ac 

at  arm  s length  by  that  chcvaux  de /rise  of  a mister?  was  it  for  this  th 
thawed  the  thick-ribbed  ice  of  Mrs.  Traddles  ? 

Em,  Thick-ribbed  ain’t  a proper  word  to  use  to  any  lady,  and  I : 
you  my  mas  name  ain  t Traddles,  Mr.  Jones ; it’s  the  same  as  mine— 
Evremond ; she ’s  changed  it  at  my  wish. 

Green,  I beg  pardon  of  your  stern  parient,  {sits  L.)  Mrs.  St.  Evremo; 
late  Traddles  ; but  I repeat,  was  it  to  be  called  Mister  Jones  that  I trea 
Mrs.  St.  E.  and  chyild  to  the  Star  and  Garter ; and  her  chyild  without  IV ' 
E.  to  the  Trafalgar,  where  from  the  moonlit  balcony  that  overhung 
fragrant  river,  we  watched  together  the  sunset  over  the  Isle  of  Dogs  ? 

Em.  And  very  wrong  it  was  of  me  to  go  to  that  whitebait  dinner  wi 
out  ma ; and  preciously  she  blew  me  up  about  it,  though  1 told  her  3 
could  n t have  treated  me  with  more  respect  if  I ’d  been  a countess,  inst( 
of  a coryphee. 

Greeii^  (l.)  Emily,  you  only  did  me  justice.  My  intentions  are  hon 
able.  If  you  are  in  the  ballet,  that’s  no  reason  you  shouldn’t  be  a de 
good  girl.  You  ve  been  a trump  of  a daughter ; I don’t  see  why  y 
should  n t turn  out  a trump  of  a wife.  Emily,  accept  my  hand. 

Em,  (l.  c.)  Nonsense;  Green,  you  don’t  mean  it.  ; 

Green.  I ’m  perfectly  serious.  My  hand  and  my  heart,  my  fortune  a 
my  future.  Don’t  stare,  Emily.  It ’s  as  true  as  that  my  name  is  Gref 
I ’m  quite  in  earnest — I am  indeed. 

E7n,  Oh  ! Green,  dear,  I ’m  in  such  agitation.  {Rises?^ 

Green,  (l.)  We  will  spend  a rosy  existence.  You  like  life,  and  I flati 
myself  I understand  it. 

Ein.  And  don’t  I?  I call  this  life : the  music  and  the  company,  a: 
the  singing  and  the  trapeze.  I thought  the  man  must  break  his  neck.  ? 
was  beautiful.  I 

Green,  Yes;  I like  to  associate  with  all  classes.  “Purvey  mankinc 
you  know,  Emily— from  China”— to  earthenware.  So  when  Chari 
Punter  proposed  a night  at  the  tea  gardens,  I sank  the  ewell ; and  here 
am  with  Emily  and  her  mama.  Charley  did  n’t  seem  to  see  the  parient ; bi 
‘‘  Propriety,  Charley,  my  boy,”  I said,  and  he  submitted  with  a sigh.  Ai 
now  what  will  you  have  ? {Re-enter  May,  down  R.  ist  E. ; she  begins 
sing.)  Oh  ! anything  but  that.  Now  do  oblige  me  by  shutting  up,  that 
a good  girl. 

E7n,  No,  no,  poor  thing.  Let  her  sing  ; she  has  a sweet  voice. 

Green.  Flat,  decidedly. 

E7n,  {co7ite7nptuouslyi)  You’re  another.  Give  me  half  a crown  for  he 
Green,  {gives  one,  she  asks  by  gesture  for  another  i)  Two  ? Such  a bor 
I shall  have  to  change  a note  at  the  bar. 

Em.  You  ’ll  have  to  change  a good  many  notes  when  we  are  marri© 
(To  May.)  Come  along;  you  shall  have  both  half  crowns. 

\Exeunt  Green  Jones  and  Emily,  l.  U;  e..  as  May  is followii^ 


JCENE  I.J 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


IS 


Enter  Brierly,  l.  ist  E. 

Bri\  Downy  not  here  ? He  said  I was  to  bring  t*  brass  to  our  table. 
May,  {recognizes  him  up  C. ; comes  down,)  ’Tis  he  ! {Joyouslyi)  Oh, 
ir.  I’m  so  sorry 

Bri,  Why,  it ’s  t’  singing  lass.  ( Crosses  to  her,)  I say,  have  you  seen 
ly  friend  ? 

May,  No,  sir. 

Bri,  And  where ’s  t’  landlord.  Here ’s  that  ’ll  make  him  civil  enough. 

{Shows  a number  of  sovereigns  in  his  hand,) 
May,  Oh,  what  a lot  of  money  ! 

Bri,  Brass  for  a twenty  pound  note.  I got  it  changed  at  t’  cigar 
hop  down  t’  road.  He ’s  a good  ’un  is  Downy — lends  me  whatever  I want, 
lere  yo’  landlord.  Hoy ! 

Enter  Maltby,  l.  U.  e. 

Mai,  Coming ! Coming  ! {Recognizing  Brierly.)  Oh,  it ’s  you. 

{Down  R.) 

Bri,  {flinging  a half  sovereign  to  Maltby.)  There  ; seven  and  six 
or  t’  wine,  and  t’  other  half  crown ’s  for  t’  thrashin’  I owe  you. 

{Approaches  him  threateninglyi) 
Mai,  {pocketing  the  money  and  retr eating  i)  Take  care;  I ’ll  teach  you 
D insult  a respectable  licensed  victualler.  ( To  May,  who  tries  to  calm 
Jrierly.)  And  you,  too,  you  tramp ; I ’ll  have  you  locked  up  for  annoying 
ly  customers.  How  do  I know  my  spoons  are  safe  } 

Bri,  Thou  cur ! {He  rushes  toward  Maltby,  who  escapes  L.  u.  E., 
rying  Police  ! ”) 

May,  I cannot  bear  you  should  trouble  for  me,  indeed,  sir. 

Bri,  (r.)  Nay,  never  heed  that  muck-worm.  Come,  dry  thine  eyes. 
Concealing  her  tears.)  Thou ’s  too  soft  for  this  life  o’  thine. 

May,  {apologetic ally  1)  It ’s  the  fever,  I think,  sir — I use  n’t  to  mind  un- 
ind  looks  and  words  much  once. 

Bri,  Here,  take  this,  {puts  money  into  her  hand)  and  stay  thee  quiet  at 
ome  till  thou  ’st  i’  fettle  again. 

May,  Two  sovereigns  1 oh,  sir.  {Cries.) 

Bri,  Nay,  thou ’It  make  better  use  o’  t’  brass  than  me What, 

ryin’  again  ! come,  come,  never  heed  that  old  brute ; hard  words  br’ak  no 
•ones,  yo’  know. 

May,  It ’s  not  his  hard  words  I ’m  crying  for  now,  sir. 

Bri,  What  then  1 

M ay.  Your  kind  ones — they  ’re  harder  to  bear — they  sound  so  strange 
3 me. 

Lri.  Poor  thing ! heaven  help  thee — thou  mindest  me  of  a sister  I lost, 
he ’d  eyes  like  thine,  and  hair,  and  much  t’  same  voice,  nobbut  she  faveit 


i6 


ticket-of-leave  man. 


[Ac: 


redder  i’ t’  face,  and  spoke  broader.  I 'd  be  dad  whiles  fe  h 
gradely  lass  like  you  to  talk  to  ^ ^ ^ ^ ' 

Bu,  , live,  .i,,  , , , 

yo«-™  right;  lco„,<i„..co™,hh„,h„.. 


£^ier  Dalton,  hastily,  from  c.,  down  r. 

Dal,  Brierly ! 

S ^ five  o’  the  twenty. 

« ■ /.  11"^^  ’ ® ^ a ‘^ab  outside. 

Brt.  (to  May.)  Mind,  if  you  want  a friend,  write  to  Bob  Brierly  at 
Lancashire  Arms,  Air  street,  yo  ’ll  not  forget 

May.  Never;  I ’ll  set  it  down  (asido)  in  my  heart  1 
Dal,  Come ! 

Bn.  And  yo’— tell  me  yo’r  name— will  yo’.? 

May.  May  Edwards. 

Dal.  Confound  your  billing  and  cooing— come. 

(As  Brierly  follows  Dalton,  c.,  Hawkshaw  and  two  of 
Detectives  appear^  L.) 

Hawk,  You ’re  wanted. 

Dal,  {aside)  The  crushers  ! Run,  Rob  ! 


(Music;  Dalton  attempts  to  escape;  Detectives  dHain  Brierl 
hawkshaw  seizes  Dalton;  the  scuffle,  Dalton’s  hat  a, 
wtg  are  knocked  off) 

Hawk.  I know  you,  James  Dalton ! 

Dal.  (starting)  Ah  ! ; 

Hawk.  Remember  the  Peckham  job.  ' 

Dal.  The  Nailer!  Hit  out.  Bob! 

(Brierly  has  been  wrestling  with  the  two  Detectives;  as  Dalto 
speaks,  he  knocks  07ie  down) 

Bn.  I have.  Some  o’  them  garrotin’  chaps  » 

May.  (cries)  Help  ! help ! ( Wringing  her  hands) 

(A  fierce  struggle;  Dalton  escapes  from  Hawkshaw  and  thron 
him,  he  draws  a pistol,  Dalton  strikes  him  down  with  a life-pn 

server  and  makes  his  escape  through  the  trees  ; Brierly  A over 
■powered  and  handcuffed ; Guests  rush  in  and  form  tableau) 


% 


iSCENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


57 


ACT  11. 

Scene. — The  room  occupied  May  Edwards  in  Mrs.  Willough- 
by’s house,  humbly  but  neatly  furnished ; flowers  in  the  window,  R. 
flat ; a work-table ; stool ; door  co^nmunicating  with  her  bedroom, 
R. ; door  leading  to  the  staircase,  L. ; guitar  hanging  against  wall ; 
needlework  on  the  table, 

(May  discovered  with  a bird-cage  on  the  table,  arranging  a piece  of 
sugar  and  groundsel  between  the  bars  ; sofa,  R. ; chejffionier,  L. ; 
American  clock,  &^c.) 

May.  There,  Goldie,  I must  give  you  your  breakfast,  though  I don 't 
care  a bit  for  my  own.  Ah  ! you  find  singing  a better  trade  than  I did,  you 
little  rogue.  I ’m  sure  I shall  have  a letter  from  Robert  this  morning. 
I Ve  all  his  letters  here.  ( Taking  out  a packet  from  her  work-box.)  How 
he  has  improved  in  his  handwriting  since  the  first.  {Opening  letteri) 
That ’s  more  than  three  years  back.  Oh ! what  an  old  woman  I ’m  getting! 
It’s  no  use  denying  it,  Goldie.  {To  her  bird.)  If  you’ll  be  quiet,  like  a 
good,  well-bred  canary,  I ’ll  read  you  Robert’s  last  letter.  {Readsi) 
‘‘Portland,  February  25th,  i860.  My  own  dearest  May — {Kissing  it.) 
As  the  last  year  keeps  slipping  away,  I think  more  and  more  of  our  happy 
meeting;  but  for  your  love  and  comfort  I think  I should  hav^  broken 
down.”  Goldie,  do  you  hear  that?  {She  kisses  the  letter i)  “But  now 
we  both  see  how  things  are  guided  for  the  best.  But  for  my  being  sent  to 
prison,  I should  have  died  before  this,  a broken-down  drunkard,  if  not 
worse ; and  you  might  still  have  been  earning  hard  bread  as  a street 
singer,  or  carried  from  a hospital  ward  to  a pauper’s  grave.”  Yes,  yes; 
{shuddering)  that ’s  true.  “ This  place  has  made  a man  of  me,  and  you 
have  found  friends  and  the  means  of  earning  a livelihood.  I count  the 
days  till  we  meet.  Good-bye  and  heaven  bless  you,  prays  your  fever  af- 
fectionate Robert  Brierly.”  {Kisses  the  letter  frequently?)  And  don ’t  I 
count  the  days  too  ? There  1 {Makes  a mark  in  her  pocket  almanac?) 
Another  gone ! They  seem  so  slow — when  one  looks  forward — and  yet 
they  pass  so  quickly  ! ( Taking  up  bird-cage?)  Come,  Goldie,  while  I work 

you  must  sing  me  a nice  song  for  letting  you  hear  that  nice  letter. 

{Hanging  up  bird-cage  ; a knock  at  the  door?) 

Enter  Emily,  l. 

Em.  {entering?)  May  I come  in  ? 

May.  Oh,  yes,  Mrs.  Jones.  {Sits  to  work,  R.  C.) 

Eni.  St.  Evremond,  please.  Miss  Edwards.  Jones  has  changed  his 
name.  When  people  have  come  down  in  circumstances,  the  best  way 
they  can  do  is  to  keep  up  their  names.  {Sits  L.  C.)  I like  St.  Evremond ; 
it  looks  well  in  the  bill,  and  sounds  foreign.  That  *s  always  attractive-— and 


i8 


ticket-of-leave  man. 


[Act 


I dress  my  hair  a la  Francaise,  to  keep  up  the  effect.  I ’ve  brought  bac 
the  shawl  you  were  kind  enough  to  lend  me. 

May,  I hope  you  got  the  engagement,  dear  ? 

Em,  {sighsl)  No;  the  proprietor  said  my  appearance  was  quite  tl 
thing— good  stage  face  and  figure,  and  all  that;  you  know  how  tho‘ 
creatures  always  flatter  one  ; but  they  hadn’t  an  opening  just  now  in  tf 
comic  duet  and  character-dance  business. 

May,  I ’m  so  sorry ; your  husband  will  be  so  disappointed. 

Em,  Oh  ! bless  you,  he  doesn’t  know  what  I ’ve  been  after.  I could n 
bear  to  worrit  him,  poor  fellow ! He ’s  had  so  many  troubles.  I ’ve  bee 
used  to  rough  it— before  we  came  into  fortune. 


{Noise  heard  overhead,  L. ; May  starts,) 

May,  What  noise  is  that } It ’s  in  your  room. 

Em,  Don  t be  alarmed  it  s only  Green ; I left  him  to  practice  th 
clog-dance  while  I went  out.  He ’s  so  clumsy.  He  often  comes  down  lik 
that  in  the  double  shuffles.  But  he  gets  on  very  nicely  in  the  comi’ 
duets. 

May,  It ’s  very  fortunate  he ’s  so  willing  to  turn  his  hand  to  anything.  ; 

Em,  Yes;  he’s  willing  enough  to  turn  his  hand,  only  he  is  so  slov, 
in  turning  his  legs.  Ah,  my  dear,  you  ’re  very  lucky  only  having  yoursel 
to  keep.  ' t 

May,  I find  it  hard  enough  to  work  sometimes.  But  after  the  life  I ’vl 
passed  through,  it  seems  paradise. 

Em,  Oh  ! I could  n’t  a-bear  it ; such  a want  of  excitement ! And  yoi 
that  was  brought  up  to  a public  life  too.  {Rises,)  Every  night  about  six 
when  they  begin  to  light  up  the  gas,  I feel  so  fidgetty,  you  can’t  think—] 
want  to  be  off  to  the  theatre.  I couldn’t  live  av/ay  from  the  float,  that  is( 
not  if  I had  to  work  for  my  living;  of  course  it  was  very  different  the  thre^ 
years  we  had  our  fortune.  \ 


{Sighs  and  gives  herself  an  air  of  7nartyrdom.)  I 

May,  I’m  afraid  Mr.  Jones  ran  through  a great  deal  in  a very  shori 
time. 

Em,  Well,  we  were  both  fast,  dear;  and  to  do  Jones  justice,  I don’t 
think  he  was  the  fastest.  You  see  he  was  used  to  spending,  and  I wasn’t. 
It  seemed  so  jolly  at  first  to  have  everything  one  liked.  {A  knock?) 

May,  Come  in  I 


Enter  Green  Jones,  much  dilapidated ; he  wears  a decayed  dressing 
gown  and  a shocking  cap,  and  carries  a pair  of  clogs  in  his  hand; 
he  throws  hhnself  into  chair,  L. 

May,  Your  wife’s  here,  Mr.  Jones.  ' 

Em,  St.  Evremond,  please,  dear. 

Green,  Yes,  Montague  St.  Evremond;  that  is  to  be  in  the  paulo-poster- 


Scene  i.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


19 

Futurum.  I thought  you  would  be  here,  Milly.  I saw  you  come  in  at  the 
street  door.  (May  takes  her  work.) 

Em.  Oh,  you  were  watching  for  me  out  of  the  window,  I suppose,  in- 
stead of  practicing  your  pas. 

Green.  I was  allowing  my  shins  an  interval  of  refreshment.  I hope, 
Miss  Edwards,  you  may  never  be  reduced  to  earn  a subsistence  bv  the 
dog  hornpipe,  or  if  you  are,  that  you  will  be  allowed  to  practice  in  your 
stockings.  The  way  I Ve  barked  my  intractable  shins  ! 

Ein.  Poor  dear  fellow  ! There,  there ! He ’s  a good  boy,  and  he  shall 
lave  a piece  of  sugar,  he  shall.  {Kissing  himi) 

Green.  Sugar  is  all  very  well,  Emily,  but  I ’m  satisfied  I shall  never 
ilectrify  the  British  public  in  this  kind  of  pump.  {Showing  clog.)  The 
ruth  is.  Miss  Edwards,  I m not  meant  for  a star  of  the  ballet:  as  Emily 
lays,  I ’m  too  fleshy. 

Em.  Stout  was  the  word. 

Green.  Oh  ! was  it?  Anyway,  you  meant  short-winded.  My  vocation 
s in  the  more  private  walks  of  existence.  If  I’d  a nice  easy  light  porter’s 
dace,  now 

Em.  Oh,  Montague ! How  can  you  be  so  mean-spirited  ? * 

Green.  Or  if  there ’s  nothing  else  open  to  us  but  the  music  halls,  I 
ilways  said  we  should  do  better  with  the  performing  dogs. 

Em.  Performing  dogs  ! Had  n’t  you  better  come  to  monkeys  at  once  ? 

Green.  I ’ve  a turn  for  puppies.  I ’m  at  home  with  them.  It ’s  the 
hing  I ’ve  always  been  used  to,  since  I was  at  college.  But  we  re  inter- 
upting  Miss  Edwards.  Come  along,  Emily,  if  you  ’re  at  liberty  to  give 
'our  Montague  a lesson  in  the  poetry  of  motion  under  difficulties.  {Show- 
hg  the  clog.)  But,  oh,  remember  your  Montague  has  shins,  and  be  as 
paring  as  possible  of  the  double  shuffles.  {Eises,  leaving  his  clogs?) 

Em.  You  poor,  dear,  soft-headed,  soft-hearted,  soft-shinned  creature  ! 
Vhat  would  you  do  without  me?  {Co7nes  back?)  Oh,  what  a man  it  is; 
le  has  forgotten  his  dancing  pumps,  and  I ’m  sure  they  ’re  big  enough. 

\^Exit  Emily  a7id  Green  Jones,  l.  door. 

! May.  {foldmg  up  her  shawl?)  How  times  are  changed  since  she  made 

im  give  me  half-a-crown  that  dreadful  night,  when  Robert {sits)  I 

an  t bear  to  think  of  it,  though  all  has  turned  out  so  well. 

; Enter  Mrs.  Willoughby,  l. 

|th,  Mrs.  Willoughby,  I was  expecting  a visit  from  you.  I ’ve  the  week’s 
[ent  all  ready.  {Gives  her  a folded  parcel fro7n  S7nall  box  07t  table?) 

Mrs.  W.  Which  ready  you  always  was,  to  the  minit,  that  I will  say,  my 
ear.^  You  11  excuse  me  if  I take  a chair,  {sits^  L.)  these  stairs  is  trying  to 
n c.derly  woman  not  that  I am  so  old  as  many  that  looks  younger, 
/hich  when  I ’d  my  front  tittivated  only  last  week,  Mr.  Miggles,  that ’s  the 
airdresser  at  22,  he  says  to  me,  Mrs.  Willoughby,”  he  says,  forty  is 


20 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


Act 


what  I’d  give  you  with  that  front,”  he  says.  No,  Mr.  Higgles,”  I Sc 
forty  it  was  once,  but  will  never  be  again,  which  trouble  is  a sharp  the 
and  losses  is  more  than  time,  and  a shortness  of  breath  along  of  a sh( 
three  years  was  last  July.  No,  Mr.  Higgles,”  I says,  « fronts  can’t  ur 
the  work  of  years,  I says,  nor  yet  wigs,  Mr.  Higgles — which  skin-pa 
ings  equal  to  yours,  I never  did  see,  and  that ’s  the  truth.” 

{Pauses for  breath^ 

May,  At  all  events,  Mrs.  Willoughby,  youVe  looking  very,  very  "w 
this  morning. 

Mrs.  W.  Ah,  my  dear,  you  are  very  good  to  say  so,  which,  if  it  was 
for  rheumatics  and  the  rates,  one  a top  of  another,  and  them  dustmi 
which  their  carts  is  a mockery,  unless  you  stand  beer,  and  that  boy,  Sa 
though  which  is  the  worst,  I m sure  is  hard  to  say,  only  a grandmothei 
feelings  is  not  to  be  told,  which  opodeloc  can’t  be  rubbed  into  the  ’ea 
as  I said  to  Mrs.  Molloy— her  that  has  my  first  floor  front— which  she  sa 
to  me,  “ Mrs.  Willoughby,”  says  she,  ” nine  oils  is  the  thing,”  she  sa 
“ rubbed  in  warm,”  says  she.  “ Which  it ’s  all  very  well,  Mrs.  Mollo) 
says  I,  “ but  how  is  a lone  woman  to  rub  it  in  the  nape  of  the  neck  h 
uhe  small  of  the  back ; and  Sam  that  giddy,  and  distressing  me  to  tt 
degree.  No,  Mrs.  Molloy,”  I says,  “ what ’s  sent  us  we  must  bear  it,  a: 
parties  that ’s  reduced  to  let  lodgings,  can’t  afibrd  easy  chairs,”  which  w 
I know  it,  and  the  truth  it  is— and  me  with  two  beauties  in  chintz  in  t 
front  parlor,  which  I got  at  a bargain  at  the  broker’s  when  the  parties  w 
sold  up  at  24,  and  no  more  time  to  sit  down  in  ’em  than  if  I was 
cherybin. 

May.  I ’m  sure  you  ought  to  have  one,  so  hard  as  you ’ve  worked 
your  life,  and  when  Sam  gets  a situation ’ 

Mrs.  W . Sam,  ah,  that  boy— I came  here  about  him  ; hasn’t  he  be! 
here  this  morning  ? 

May.  No,  not  yet.  I was  expecting  him;  he  promised  to  carry  soii- 
things  home  for  me.  ' 

Mrs.  W . Ah,  Miss  Edwards,  if  you  would  only  talk  to  him ; he  dor 
mind  anything  I say,  no  more  than  if  it  was  a flat-iron,  which  what  th 
boy  have  cost  me  in  distress  of  mind,  and  clothes,  and  caps,  and  breal 
ages,  never  can  be  known — and  his  poor  mother,  which  was  the  only  01 
I brought  up  and  had  five,  she  says  to  me,  ” Mother,”  she  says,  “ he ’s 
big  child,  she  says,  “ and  he ’s  a beautiful  child,  but  he  have  a temper  1 
his  own;”  which,  “Mary,”  I says— she  was  called  Mary,  like  you,  n 
dear,  after  her  aunt,  from  which  we  had  expectations,  but  which  w; 
left  to  the  Blind  Asylum,  and  the  Fishmongers’  Alms  Houses,  and  vei 
Kke  you  she  was,  only  she  had  light  hair  and  blue  eyes— “ Mary,  my  dear, 

I says,  “ I hope  you  ’ll  never  live  to  see  it,”  and  took  she  was  at  twenb 
three,  sudden,  and  that  boy  I ’v2  had  to  mend  and  wash  and  do  for  evi 
since,  and  hard  lines  it  is. 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


21 


ICENE  I.] 

Maj^.  I ’m  sure  he  loves  you  very  dearly,  and  has  an  excellent  heart.  ^ 

Mrs,  W,  Heart,  my  dear — which  I wish  it  had  been  his  heart  I found 
1 his  right-’and  pocket  as  I was  a mending  his  best  trousers  last  night, 
/hich  it  was  a short  pipe,  which  it  is  nothing  but  the  truth,  and  smoked  to 
lat  degree  as  if  it  had  been  black-leaded,  which  many ’s  the  time  when 
e’ve  come  in,  I’ve  said,  “Sam,”  I’ve  said,  “I  smell  tobacco,”  I’ve  said. 
Grandmother,”  he’d  say  to  me, quite  grave  and  innocent,  “p’raps  it’s  the 
himbley  ” — and  him  a child  of  fifteen,  and  a short  pipe  in  his  right-’and 
ocket ! I ’m  sure  I could  have  broke  my  ’eart  over  it,  I could,  let  alone 
he  pipe,  which  I flung  it  into  the  fire ; but  a happy  moment  since  is  a 
hing  I have  not  known.  {Pauses  for  breath^ 

' May.  Oh ! he’ll  get  rid  of  all  his  bad  habits  in  time.  I Ve  broken  him 
ji  to  carry  my  parcels  already. 

! Mrs.  W.  -Yes,  indeed ! and  how  you  can  trust  him  to  carry  parcels ; 
]mt,  oh  ! Miss  Edwards,  if  you ’d  talk  to  him,  and  tell  him  short  pipes  is  the 
hief  of  time,  and  tobacco ’s  the  root  of  all  evil,  which  Dean  Close  he ’ve 
»roved  it  strong  enough,  I ’m  sure — and  I cut  it  out  of  the  Weekly  Pulpit 
-and  wherever  that  paper  is  now.  {Rummaging  in  her  pocket ; k7tock  at 
loory  L.)  That ’s  at  your  door — which,  if  you  ’re  expecting  a caller  or  a 
ustomer.  {Risesl) 

May.  No;  I expect  no  one — unless  it’s  Sam.  {Knock  repeated^  tini’^ 
dly.)  Come  in.  {Lays  down  her  work?) 

Brierly  opens  the  door,  timidly y L. 

Bri.  {doubtfully  1)  Miss  Edwards,  please  } 

Mayy  (r.,  rushing  into  his  arms.)  Robert ! you  here ! 

Bri.  (C.)  My  own  dear  May  ! {Rushes  over  to  herl) 

Mayy  (r.,  confusedl)  I ’m  so  glad ! But,  how  is  it  that  you  ’re 

low  well  you  look  ! {Fluttered^) 

Mrs.  W.  (l.)  Eh  1 well  I ’m  sure ! 

May,  Oh  ! you  mustn’t  mind,  Mrs.  Willoughby;  it’s  Robert. 

Mrs.  W.  Oh!  Robert!  I suppose  by  the  way  he ’s  a-goin’  on,  Robert’s 
^our  brother — leastways,  if  he  ain’t  your  brother 

Bri.  Her  brother  ? yes,  ma’am ; I ’m  her  brother ! {Kisses  May.) 

Mrs,  W.  Indeed  ! and  if  I might  make  bold  to  ask  where  you  come 
rom 

Bri.  I ’m  just  discharged.  {He pauses y yiAY  giving  him  a lookl) 

Mrs.  W.  Discharged  ! and  where  from — not  your  situation,  I ’ope. 

Bri.  From  Her  Majesty’s  service,  if  you  must  know. 

Mayy  {crosses  to  C.)  I’ve  not  seen  him  for  three  years  and  more.  I 
lid  n’t  expect  him  so  soon,  Mrs.  Willoughby,  so  it  was  quite  natural  the 
light  of  him  should  startle  me. 

Mrs,  W,  (l.)  Which  well  I know  it — not  ’avin’  had  brothers  myself, 
)ut  an  uncle  that  ran  away  for  a soldier,  and  came  back  on  the  parish  with 


' ' ticket-of-leave  man.  [Act  | 

a wooden  leg,  and  a shillin'  a day  pension,  and  always  in  arrears  for  liqu| 
—which  the  way  that  man  would  drink  beer ! ' 

Brz,  (r.)  I should  have  written  to  prepare  you,  but  I thought  I mig  £ 
be  here  as  soon  as  my  letter,  so  I jumped  into  the  train  at  Dorchester,  ai 
here  I am. 

May,  (c.)  That  was  very  thoughtless  of  you — no  it  was  very  thoughti 

and  kind  of  you.  But  I don’t  understand 

Brz.  How  I come  to  be  here  before  the  time  I told  you  in  my  lette ' 

You  see,  I had  full  marks  and  nothing  against  me,  and  the  regulations ,■ 

gives  hhn  a look  which  interrupts  him.) 

May,  (crosses  c.  to  Mrs.  Willoughby.)  If  Sam  comes  shall  I tell  hi| 
to  go  down  stairs  to  you,  Mrs.  Willoughby  } I 

Mrs.  IV.  I shall  be  much  obliged  to  you,  my  dear— which  I knowwh(  | 
brothers  and  sisters  meet  they’ll  have  a great  deal  to  talk  over  and  two! 
company  and  three  s none,  is  well  beknown — and  I never  was  one  to  stai;| 
listenin  when  other  folks  is  talkin  — and  one  thing  I may  say,  as  I to 
Mrs.  Molloy  only  last  week,  when  the  first  floor  had  a little  tiff  with  tj 
second  pair  front  about  the  water — ‘‘Mrs.  Molloy,”  I says,  “nobody  evl 
heard  me  put  in  my  oar  when  I wasn’t  asked,”  I says,  “and  idle  chatterf 
and  gossip,”  I says,  “is  a thing  that  I never  was  given  to,  and  I ain’t  a-goij 
to  begin  now,”  I says,  “which  good  mornin’  to  you,  young  man,  and  a he 
ter  girl,  and  a nicer  girl,  and  a harder  working  girl,  than  you  sister,  I ’op 
and  trust  may  never  darken  my  doors,  (Brierly  throws  open  doot 
which  her  rent  was  ever  ready  to  the  day.  No,  my  dear,  it’s  the  trutl 
and  you  need  n’t  blush.  (During  this  last  speech  Brierly  gets  round  i 
L.,  and  urges  her  towards  door,  L.)  Thank  you,  (going  to  door,  L.) ; 
can  open  the  door  for  myself,  young  man.  ( Turns  to  himi)  And  a vei^ 
nice  looking  head  you  have  on  your  shoulders,  though  you  have  had  your  ha‘ 
cut  uncommon  short,  which  I must  say — ^good  momin’,  my  dear,  and  anj 
thing  I can  do  for  you.  (Exit,  L.,  but  heard  still  talking  till  the  door  ^ 
low  is  heard  to  shut  loudly i)  I m sure,  which  nobody  can  say  but  I wa 
always  ready  to  oblige,  if  reduced  to  let  lodgings  owing  to  a sudde: 
shock. 

Brt.  (l.)  Phew ! (Giving  a sigh  of  reliefi)  One  would  think  she  ’« 
been  on  the  silent  system  for  a twelvemonth ! Now,  we ’re  alone  at  last 
May.  Let  me  have  a good  look  at  you.  I gave  you  a bit  of  a squeeze 
but  I had  n’t  a good  look.  (He  takes  her  by  the  handl) 

May,  (R.)  WelD 

Bri.  Prettier  than  ever — ^you  couldn’t  look  better  or  kinder. 

May.  Now  sit  down,  and  don’t  talk  nonsense. 

Bri.  Sit  down ! not  I — I ’ve  had  a good  look  at  you — and  I must  have  i 
good  look  at  the  place.  How  snug  it  is ! as  neat  as  the  cell  I ’ve  just  left 
But  it  wasn’t  hard  to  keep  that  in  order — ^7  had  only  a stool,  a basin,  ancj 
a hammock.  Did  n’t  I polish  the  hammock-hooks  neither.  One  must  hav« 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


^3 


^ENE  I.] 

“.pride  in  something,  you  know.  But  here  you’ve  no  end  of  things — a 
ofa,  and  a carpet,  and  chairs,  and {Going  round  as  he  speaks^ 

May,  Isn’t  it  a nice  clock,  Robert?  and  look  at  the  cheffonier!  picked 
hat  up  a bargain— and  all  out  of  my  own  earnings ! % 

Bri,  It ’s  the  cosiest  little  nest  for  my  bird — you  were  a singing  bird 
mce,  you  know.  (Sees  the  guitar?)  And  there ’s  the  old  bread-winner— 
’m  glad  you ’ve  not  parted  with  that. 

May.  I should  be  the  most  ungrateful  creature  if  I did ! How  many  a 
iinner  it ’s  earned  for  me ! how  many  a week’s  rent  it ’s  paid ! But  for  it  I 
lever  should  have  known  you,  my  friend,  my  brother.  Yes,  Robert,  I 
vanted  to  explain  to  Mrs.  Willoughby,  when  she  called  you  my  brother. 

Bri.  So  did  I.  But  I felt  it  was  true.  (SitSy  R.  C.)  If  I’m  not  your 
brother  born  and  bred.  May,  you ’ve  been  a true  sister  to  me,  ever  since 
:hat  night 

' May,  (R.)  Oh,  Robert,  a kind  word  was  never  lost  yet.  No  wonder  I 
:lung  to  you 

Bri.  Aye,  when  all  stood  aloof.  In  the  prison,  in  the  dock,  to  the  van- 
door.  But  for  you.  May,  I should  have  been  a desperate  man.  I might 
lave  become  all  they  thought  me : a felon,  in  the  company  of  felons. 

May.  Oh,  do  not  look  back  to  that  misery — but  tell  me  how  you  are  out 
so  long  before  your  time? 

Bri.  Here ’s  my  ticket-of-leave ; they ’ve  given  me  every  week  of  my 
iiine  months — they  hadn’t  a mark  against  me — I didn’t  want  to  look  for- 
ward to  my  discharge — I was  afraid  to — I worked  away ; in  school,  in  the 
quarry-gang  first,  and  in  the  office  afterwards,  as  if  I had  to  stay  there  for- 
ever— I wasn’t  unhappy  either — all  were  good  to  me.  And  then  I had  your 
letters  to  comfort  me.  But  when  I was  sent  for  to  the  governor’s  room 
yesterday,  and  told  I was  a free  man,  everything  swam  round  and  round — 
I staggered — they  had  to  give  me  water,  or  I think  I should  have  fainted 
like  a girl. 

May.  Ah,  as  I feh  that  night  when  you  gave  me  the  wine. 

Bri.  Poor  dear,  I remember  it,  as  if  it  was  yesterday.  But  when  I 
passed  out  at  the  gate,  not  for  gang  labor,  in  my  prison  dress,  with  my 
prison  mates,  under  the  warder’s  eye,  and  the  sentry’s  musket,  as  I had 
done  so  many  a weary  week — but  in  my  own  clothes — unwatched — a free 
man — free  to  go  where  I liked — to  do  what  I liked — speak  to  whom  I liked, 
(rises^  I thought  I should  have  gone  crazy — I danced,  I sang,  I kicked  up 
the  pebbles  of  the  Chizzle  beach — the  boatmen  laid  hands  on  me  for  an 
■ escaped  lunatic,  till  I told  ’em  I was  a discharged  prisoner,  and  then  they 
let  me  pass — but  they  drew  back  from  me ; there  was  the  convict’s  taint 
about  me — you  can’t  fling  that  off  with  the  convict’s  jacket. 

May,  But  here,  no  one  knows  you ; you  ’ll  get  a fresh  start  now. 

Bri,  I hope  so,  but  it ’s  awfully  up-hill  work.  May ; I ’ve  heard  enough 


V 


24 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act 


down  yonder  of  all  that  stands  between  a poor  fellow  who  has  been 
trouble,  and  an  honest  life.  But  just  let  me  get  a chance. 

May.  Oh,  if  only  Mr.  Gibson  would  give  you  one 
Bri.  Who ’she.? 

The  husband  of  the  lady  who  was  my  first  and  best  frien 

(Brierly /ao^s  uneasy.)  After  you,  of  course,  you  jealous  thing  It  w 

n W nir  T ^°*‘^-’'®‘=°*"mended  me  to  her  friends~and  now  I Ve  quite 
nice  little  business.  I pay  my  way— I ’m  as  happy  as  the  day  is  long— an 
I m thinking  of  taking  an  apprentice.  ^ ^ 

BM.  (r.  c.)  How  I wish  I was  a lass.  ( Taking  her  hand.) 

May,  (R.)  I think  I see  those  great  clumsy  hands  spoiling  my  work. 
Brt.  You  don  t want  a light  porter — eh.  May .? 

May.  No— I ve  not  quite  business  enough  for  that  yet.  If  Mr.  Gibso 
would  only  give  you  employment.  He ’s  something  in  the  city. 

No  chance  of  that.  May.  I must  begin  lower  down,  and  whe 
I ve  got  a character,  then  I may  reach  a step  higher,  and  so  creep  bac 

for  h There’s  no  hel 

wif shoulder:)  At  all  events  you  ca. 

4°e  May?  ""  " 

aw??.bTr'  sovereigns  you  lent  me-I ’ve  pu 

away  a shilling  every  week  out  of  my  savings-and  then  there ’s  the  inter- 

It ’s  all  here.  (Goes  to  table,  and' coming 
d^n  on  his  L puts  a savings-box  into  his  hand)  You  need  n’t  count  it 
There  d have  been  more  if  you  hadn’t  come  so  soon. 

sa^ngs.?^^  ^ ^ 

nle?-^'  f ^ «nhappy-I  Ve  had  more 

p easure  out  of  that  money  than  any  I ever  earned,  because  I thought  it 
would  go  to  help  you.  luugiu  ii 

for?l’  fi'^gers  working 

for  me-a  lusty,  big-boned  chap  like  me  1 Why,  May,  lass-I ’ve  a mattef 

^ wen  y pounds  in  brass  of  my  own  earnings  at  Pentonville  and  Port- 
allowances.  The  governor  paid  it  over  to  me,  like  a 

“■*  "“-i*  wio-  G.d 

May.  Twenty  pounds ! Oh,  how  small  my  poor  little  earnings  will 
look  1 _ I was  so  proud  of  them,  too.  (Bue/ully.)  ^ 

Brt.  Well,  keep  ’em  May— keep  ’em  to  buy  your  wedding-gown. 

( Takes  her  m hzs  arzns  and  kisses  her.) 
Enter  Sam,  l.  ; he  gives  a significant  cough. 

May.  Oh ! (^Startled,)  Sam ! 


iSCENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


25 


ii  Bri,  {hastily^  Sam  ! is  it  ! Confound  him  ! I ’ll  teach  him.  {Crosses 
0 L.  C.,  sees  it  is  a boy  and patisesi) 

Sam,  (l.)  Now,  will  you,  though  ? Granny  will  be  uncommon  obliged 

0 you.  She  says  I want  teaching — don’t  she?  {To  May.) 

[ May,  (r.)  How  dare  you  come  in  like  that,  Sam,  without  so  much  as 

1 mocking  ? 

Sam,  How  was  I to  know  you  had  company  ? Of  course  I ’d  knocked 
fid  been  aware  you ’d  your  young  man. 

Bri,  (C.)  I tell  you  what,  young  ’un,  if  you  don’t  make  yourself 
;carce 

Sam,  Well,  what?  {Retreatingi)  If  I don’t  make  myself  scarce,  you ’ll 
Ditch  into  me.  Just  you  try  it,  {squaring)  Lanky  ! — Yah  ! Hit  one  of  your 
)wn  size — do.  {Squaring?) 

Bri.  Go  it.  Master  Sam ! Ha,  ha,  ha ! 

Sa77t.  My  name ’s  not  Sam.  It ’s  Samivel  Willoughby,  Esquire,  most 
'cspectable  references  given  and  required,  {pulls  collar  up)  as  granny  says 
fvhen  she  advertises  the  first  floor. 

Bri,  Now  be  off,  like  a good  little  chap. 

Sa7n,  Come,  Cheeky ! Don’t  you  use  bad  language.  I ’m  rising  fifteen, 
;tand  five  feet  five  in  my  bluchers,  and  I ’m  sprouting  agin’  the  summer  if 
! ain’t  six  foot  of  greens  Xik^yott. 

May,  {crosses  to  C.)  Hold  your  tongue;  you’re  a naughty,  impudent 
ittlc  boy. 

Sam,  Come  I ’m  bigger  than  you  are,  I ’ll  bet  a bob.  {Stands  on  his 
'oes.) 

Enter  Mrs.  Willoughby,  l. 

Mrs,  W.  Oh,  here ’s  that  boy  at  last ! which  upstairs  and  dov/nstairs 
md  all  along  the  street  have  I been  a seekin’  of  him,  {throws  him  over  to 
L.)  which  if  you ’d  believe  me.  Miss  Edwards,  I left  a fourpenny  bit  in  the 
:hany  dog-kennel  on  the  mantelpiece  downstairs  only  yesterday  mornin’ 
IS  ever  was,  which  if  ever  there  was  a real  bit  of  Dresden,  and  cost  me 
'ourteen-and-six  at  Han  way  Yard  in  ’appier  days,  with  a black  and  white 
spaniel  in  a wreath  of  roses  and  a shepherdess  to  match,  and  the  trouble 
[ ’ve  ’ad  to  keep  that  boy’s  ’ands  off  it  since  he  was  in  long  clothes — where ’s 
that  fourpenny-piece,  {seizes  him)  you  young  villain — which  you  know 
you  took  it. 

Sam,  (l.)  Well,  then,  I did — to  buy  bird’s-eye  with.  ^ 

Mrs,  JV.  (l.  C.)  Bird’s-eye  ! and  him  not  fifteen — and  the  only  one  left 
iof  three.  {Falls  in  chair,  L.  C.) 

Sam.  If  you  will  nobble  a fellow’s  ’bacca,  you  must  take  the  conse- 
quences ; and  just  you  mind — it  ain’t  no  use  a tryin’  it  on  breaking  my 
pipes,  granny.  I ’ve  given  up  Broselys  and  started  a briar  root.  {Pulls  it 
out?)  It ’s  a stunner. 

Mrs^  W,  Oh  dear,  oh  dear  . if  it  ain’t  enough  to  melt  an  ’eart  of  stones 


26 


TICKET-OF-LEAVi:  MAN. 


[Act  I 


—now  fronts  I may  wear  to  ’ide  my  suffering,  but  my  grey  ’airs  that  be 
have  determined  to  bring  with  sorrow  to  the  grave. 

Sam.  What.?  Cos  I smoke.?  Why  there’s  Jem  Higgles  smokes,  an 
he’s  a year  younger  than  me,  and  he’s  allowed  all  the  lux’ries  of  the  ses 
son— his  father  is  going  to  take  him  to  see  the  badger  drawn  at  Jemm 
Shaw’s  one  of  these  days — and  his  mother  don’t  go  into  hysterics. 

May.  Sam,  I ’m  surprised  you  should  take  pleasure  in  making  you 
grandmother  unhappy ! 

Sam.  I don’t  take  pleasure— she  won’t  let  me  ; she ’s  always  a naggir 
and  aggravatin’  me.  Here,  dry  your  eyes,  granny,  {goes  to  her)  and  I ’: 
be  a good  boy,  and  I won’t  go  after  the  rats,  and  T won’t  aggravate  ol. 
Miggles’s  bullfinches. 

Mrs,^  W . And  you  ’ll  give  up  that  nasty  tobacco,  and  you  ’ll  keep  you 
clothes  tidy,  and  not  get  slidin’  down  ladders  in  your  Sunday  trousers— 
which  moleskins  won’t  stand,  let  alone  mixed  woolens. 

Sa7n,  Best  put  me  in  charity  leathers  at  once,  with  a muffin  cap  and  ; 
badge,  would  n’t  I look  stunnin’ } Oh,  my  ! {Goes  L.)  ' 

Mrs,  IV,  There,  that  s just  him ; always  some  of  his  imperent,  auda- 
cious chaff— I know  he  gets  it  from  that  young  Higgles— ready  to  stop  hi: 
poor  granny’s  mouth  with.  ^ 

Sa7n,  No.  {Kisses  her .)  That ’s  the  only  way  to  stop  it.  Come,  I ’rf 
goin’  to  take  myself  up  short,  like  a jibbin  cab  boss,  and  be  a real  swell; 
granny,  in  white  kids,  only  I m a waiting  till  I come  into  my  fortune — yo2\ 
know,  that  twenty  pounds  you  was  robbed  of,  three  years  ago. 

Mrs.  IV,  Which  robbery  is  too  good  a word  for  it.  It  was  forgery: 
aye,  and  a’most  as  good  as  murder — which  it  might  ha’  been  my  death ; 
Yes,  my  dears,  as  nice-looking,  civil-spoken  a young  man  as  you  would  wisl) 
to  see— in  a white  at,  which  I never  can  forget,  and  a broad  way  of  speaki 
ing— and,  “Would  you  change  me  a twenty  pound  note,  ma’am,”  he  saysj 
“And  it  ain’t  very  often,”  I says,  “you  could  have  come  into  this  shop  ”— v 
which  I was  in  the  cigar  and  periodical  line  at  the  time. 

Bri,  (r.  c.)  Where  was  your  shop  } 

Mrs,  W,  In  the  Fulham  Road,  three  doors  outside  the  Bellevue  Gar- 
dens— “And  a note  is  all  the  same  to  me,”  I sez — “if  all  correct,”  I sez ^ 

and  when  I looked  in  that  young  man’s  face,  I had  no  more  suspicion  than 
I should  of  either  of  yours,  my  dears ; so  he  gave  me  the  note,  and  he  took 
the  sovereigns.  And  the  next  thing  I saw  was  a gent,  which  his  name  he 
told  me  was  Hawkshaw,  and  he  were  in  the  police,  on’y  in  plain  clothes, 
and  asked  to  look  at  the  note,  and  told  me  it  was  a bad  ’un ; and  if  that 
man  left  me  on  the  sofa,  in  the  back  shop,  or  behind  the  counter,  with  my 
feet  in  a jar  of  brown  rappee,  and  my  head  among  the  ginger  beer  bottles, 
is  more  than  I can  tell — for  fits  it  was  for  days  and  days,  and  when 
I worked  out  of  'em,  then  I was  short  of  my  rent,  and  the  stock  sold’ 


Scene  i.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


27 


ip,  and  me  ruined.  (Brierly  shows  signs  of  agitation  while  she  is 
peakingi) 

Bri,  And  you  never  recovered  your  money . 

Mrs.  W.  Not  a penny,  my  dear,  and  if  it  hadn’t  been  for  a kind  friend 
hat  set  me  up  in  my  own  furniture,  in  the  Fulham  Workhouse  I might 
lave  been  at  this  moment,  leastways  St.  George’s,  which  that ’s  my  legal 

ettlement — and  that  blessed  boy {Goes  L.,  she  cries.) 

Sarny  {gaily i)  In  a suit  of  grey  dittoes,  a stepping  out  with  another 
hap,  a big  ’un  and  a little  ’un  together,  like  a job  lot  at  an  auction,  to 
hurch  of  a Sunday,  to  such  a jolly  long  sermon!  shouldn’t  I like  it! 
Consolingly  and  changing  his  tone.)  I say,  don’t  cry,  granny ; we  ain’t 
ome  to  skilly  yet.  {Gets  to  C.) 

. Mrs.  W.  Which  if  that  young  man  knew  the  mischief  he ’d  done. 

Mayy  (l.)  Perhaps  he  does,  and  is  sorry  for  it.  {They  rise;  he  goes 
0 bach.) 

Mrs.  W.  {crosses  to  R.,  with  Sam.)  Not  he,  the  wretch  ! What  do  the 
ikes  o’  them  care  for  the  poor  creatures  they  robs ; hangin ’s  too  good  for 
2m,  the  villains. 

Bri.  {crosses  at  back  to  L. ; taking  his  hat,  and  going.)  Good-bye, 

^ay. 

, 3fay.  You’re  not  going 

Bri.  I ’ve  a little  bit  of  business  that  can ’t  wait ; some  money  to  pay. 
May.  You  ’ll  not  be  long  ? 

Bri.  No  ; I ’ll  be  back  directly.  {Aside.)  Thank  heaven,  I can  make 
t up  to  her  ! [Exit  Brierly,  l.  door. 

Mayy  {aside.)  Poor  fellow ! he  can ’t  bear  it,  she  little  thinks 

Mrs.  W.  You  ’ll  excuse  me,  it ’s  not  often  I talk  about  it.  Miss  Edwards, 
vhich  it ’s  no  use  a cryin’  over  spilt  milk,  and  there ’s  them  as  tempers  the 

vind  to  the  shorn  lamb — and  if  it  wasn’t  for  that  boy 

Saniy  (r.)  There,  she ’s  at  me  again. 

Mrs.  W.  Which  if  I ’d  only  the  means  to  put  him  to  school,  and  out 

if  the  streets,  and  clear  of  that  Jim  Higgles  and  them  rats 

Saniy  (r.,  half  crying  1)  Bother  the  rafs  ! 

Mayy  {crosses  to  Sam.)  You  see,  Sam,  how  unhappy  you  ma^e  your 
Tandmother. 

Sam.  And  don’t  you  see  how  unhappy  she  makes  me,  talkin’  of  sendin' 
ae  to  school. 

ddayy  {forcing  him  to  Mrs.  WILLOUGHBY.)  Come,  kiss  her,  and 
•romise  to  be  a good  boy.  Ah,  Sam,  you  don’t  understand  the  blessing 
f having  one  who  loves  you  as  she  does. 

Sam.  Then  what  does  she  break  my  pipes  for.? 

Mrs.  W.  Oh,  them  pipes  I {A  knocki) 

May.  More  visitors ! What  a busy  morning  this  is ! Come  in! 


28 


ticket-of-leave  man. 


[Act 


Enter  Mr.  Gibson,  l. 

Mr.  G,  Miss  Edwards— eh  ? 

Maj^.  Yes,  sir. 

.J/r.  G Glad  I’m  right-I  thought  it  was  the  third  floor  front- 
woman  told  me  down  stairs.  I ’m  afraid  I pulled  the  wrong  bell. 


(Looks  about  him,  takes  off  his  hat,  gloves,  May 

chair,  L.  c. ; he  sits.) 

Mrs  W.  And  a nice  way  Mrs.  Molloy  would  be  in  if  you  brought  h. 
down  to  another  party’s  bell,  which,  askin’  your  pardon,  sfr,  but  was  it  tf 
first  floor  as  opened  the  street  door  > 

s.ifLade,'b“"-  ;•  ““  • “P  »»«■-  » 

’ party,  sir,  as  I was  a speakin’  of;  and  I d 

^pe  she  didn  t fly  out,  sir,  which  Mrs.  Molloy  of  a morning,  after  her  te 
she  says  it  s the  tea — is  that  rampageous 

Ed^Ird^’  enough  when  I said  I wanted  Mis 

th^r^  believe,  my  dear,  you’ve  bewitched  every  soul  ii 

the  Ouse,  from  the  kitchens  to  the  attics. 

confine  iter  witchcraft  to  your  lodgers,  m' 
good  kdy.  She  s bewitched  my  wife.  My  name ’s  Gibson. 

May^  Oh  sir;  I ’ve  never  been  able  to  say  what  I felt  to  your  good,  kin< 

lady;  but  1 hope  you  will  tell  her  I am  grateful.  ^ 

Mr.  G.  She  knows  it  by  the  return  you  have  made.  You ’ve  showed  yoi 

tlTtKh'^I  fifty  people  ready  to  help,  there’s  not  Ini 

worth  helping— that  s my  conclusion.  I was  telling  my  wife  so  this  morning 
and  she  insisted  that  I should  come  and  satisfy  myself  that  she  had  helped 
one  person  at  any  rate  who  was  able  and  willing  to  help  herself.  (Looks  ai 
ker.)  And  a veiy  tidy,  nice  looking  girl  you  are,  (goes  up  round  table  and 
comes  down)  and  a very  neat,  comfortable  room  you  have,  I must  say 

1^.  (R.)  Which  you  can  tell  your  good  lady,  sir,  from  me.  Miss 
Edwards  rent  were  always  ready  to  the  days  and  minits,  as  I was  telling 
ner  brother  just  now.  ® 

Mr.  G.  (R.  c.)  Brother .?  My  wife  said  you  were  alone  in  the  world. 
aZlZ'  ^ ^ hesitates) 

Mr.  G.  (Pointing  to  Sam,  has  put  down  a chair  and  is  balancing 

ktmself  acrobatically.)  Is  this  the  young  gentleman (Sau  pitches  avtr 
With  chair,  and  Mrs.  Willoughby  lugs  him  up.) 

Mrs.  IV  Oh  dear  no,  sir,  begging  your  pardon,  which  that  is  my 
p-andson,  Samuel  Willoughby,  the  only  one  of  three,  and  will  be  fifteen  the 
twenty-first  of  next  April,  at  eight  o’clock  in  the  morning,  and  a growing. 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


29 


fcENE  I.] 


,oy which  take  your  cap  out  of  your  mouth,  Samuel,  and  stand  straight, 

iid  let  the  gentleman  see  you.  (Mr.  Gibson  sits  L.  of  tablet) 

Sam,  {sulkily.)  The  old  gent  can  see  well  enough ; it  don’t  want  a tele- 
cope. ' {Slinks  across  at  back  to  L.)  I ain’t  a-going  to  be  inspected.  I ’ll 
nizzle.  {Takes flying  leap  over  chair t)  \Exit  Sam,  L. 

Mrs.  W.  (R.)  Which  Miss  Edwards’  brother  is  grown  up,  and  only 
:ome  back  this  blessed  mornin’  as  ever  was,  discharged  from  Her  Majesty’s 
Service,  and  five  foot  nine  in  his  shoes,  by  the  name  of  Robert  ^which  well 

le  may,  for  a sweeter  complexion 

- 'Mr.  G.  With  a good  character,  I hope. 

May.  Oh,  yes;  the  very  best,  sir. 

Re-enter  Brierly,  L. 


Bri.  {aside.)  I ’ve  done  it ! I can  face  her  now. 

Mr.  G.  So,  {rises)  I suppose  this  is  Robert ; a likely  young  fellow. 

■ May,  (L.  C.)  This  is  Mr.  Gibson,  Robert,  the  husband  of  the  lady  who 
ivas  so  good  to  me. 

, Bri.  (C.)  Heaven  bless  her  and  you,  too,  sir,  for  your  kindness  to  this 
poor  girl,  while  I was  unable  to  help  her. 

Mr.  G.  But  now  you ’ve  got  your  discharge,  she  ’ll  have  a protector. 

Bri.  I hope  so,  sir— as  long  as  I live,  and  can  earn  a crust— I suppose  I 
shall  be  able  to  do  that. 

Mr.  G.  What  do  you  mean  to  do  ? 

Bri.  Ah,  there  it  is ; I wish  I knew  what  I could  get  to  do,  sir.  There 
ire  not  many  things  in  the  way  of  work  that  would  frighten  me,  I think. 

Mr.  G.  That’s  the  spirit  I like;  your  sister  speaks  well  of  you,  but  I 
should  n’t  mind  that.  It ’s  enough  for  me  that  you ’ve  come  out  of  (Brierly 
looks  startled)  Her  Majesty’s  service  with  a good  character.  (Brierly 
rives  a sigh  of  relief  t)  You  write  a good  hand  ? 

(May  goes  up  and  round  table;  gets  letters  from  box;  comes  down,  L.  C.) 

■ Bri.  Tolerably  good,  sir. 

May.  Beautiful,  sir ; here  are  some  of  his  letters ; look,  sir.  {Going  to 
show  him,  but  pauses,  seeing  date  of  lettert)  Portland!  not  this,  sir. 
{Turns paget)  This  side  is  better  written, 
i Mr.  G.  A capital  hand.  Can  you  keep  accounts  ? 
i Bri.  Yes,  sir,  I helped  to  keep  the  books — yonder. 

Re-enter  Sam,  L.  door,  comes  over  rapidly  at  back,  to  Mrs.  WILLOUGHBY. 


I Sam.  Holloa,  granny,  here ’s  a parcel  I found  for  you  in  the  letter-box  ; 
M’t  it  heavy,  neither. 

Mrs.  W.  (R.)  For  me!  {Takes  it.)  Whatever  is  it!  Eh!  money? 
Oh ! Sam,  you  ha’  n’t  been  gone  and  doin’  anything  wrong ! 

Sam,  (r.  C.)  Bother ! Do  you  think  if  I had  I 'd  a come  to  you  with  the 
swag? 


3o 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act 


Mrs.  W.  {who  has  opened  the  packet,  screams,  and  lets  a haher  f 
frotn  the  packet) 

M ay.  What ’s  the  matter,  Mrs.  Willoughby 
Mrs.  W.  Sovereigns!  real  golden  sovereigns ! 

Sam.  Oh,  crickey ! {Goes  up  and  down  in  exultation,  R.) 

May,  {picks  up  the  paper  Mrs.  Willoughby  has  let  fall)  Here’s 

twenty  pound  in  payment  of  an  old  debt.’ 
Mr  G.  {who  has  seated  himself  and  begun  to  write,  rises  and  con. 
down)  Yes,  and  no  signature.  Come,  don’t  faint,  old  lady ! Here  m 
her  a glass  of  water.  ( To  May.)  ’ 

^ Mrs.  IV.  {recovering)  Sovereigns!  for  me?  Oh,  sir,  let  me  look 
em— the  beauties— eight,  nine,  ten,  twelve,  fifteen,  eighteen,  twenty ' Tu 
the  money  I lost. 

Sam.  There,  granny ; I always  said  we  was  cornin’  into  our  fortune  ’ 
Mrs.  W.  {with  a sudden  flash  of  doubt)  I should  n’t  wonder  if  it  w 
some  nasty  nng-dropper.  Oh!  are  they  Bank  of  Elegance,  or  only  gi 
washed  ? Which  I ’ve  seen  ’em  at  London  Bridge  a sellin’  sovereigns  at 
penny  apiece. 

Mr.^  G.  (r.  c.)  Oh,  no  ! they’re  the  real  thing.  = 

Brt.  (L.)  Perhaps  it ’s  somebody  that ’s  wronged  you  of  the  money,  an 
wants  to  clear  his  conscience. 

Mr.  G.  (C.)  Ah ! eccentric  people  will  do  that  sort  of  thing,  even  wit 

income  tax.  Take  my  advice,  old  lady— keep  the  cash. 

Mrs.  W.  (R.)  Which  in  course  a gentleman  like  you  knows  best  an 
I m sure  whoever  sent  the  money,  all  I wish  is,  much  good  may  it  do  hi4 
and  may  he  never  know  the  want  of  it.  i 

Bri,  Amen ! \ 

Mrs  W.  Which,  first  and  foremost— there ’s  my  silver  teapot,  I ’ll  ha^ 
out  of  pawn  this  blessed  day,  and  I ’ll  ask  Mrs.  Molloy  to  a cup  of  tea  in  mi 
best  blue  chaney,  and  then  this  blessed  boy  shall  have  a year  of  finishir 
school. 

^ Sam.  I wish  the  party  had  kept  his  money,  I do  (Mrs.  Willoughby 
2^  counting  the  sovereigns  over  and  over)  I say,  granny,  you'  could  n’ 
spare  a young"  chap  a couple  of  them,  could  you  } 

Mrs.  IV.  Drat  the  boy’s  imperence ! Him  askin’  for  sovereigns  a: 

natural Ah  ! they’ll  all  be  for  you,  Sam,  one  of  these  days. 

Sam.  I should  like  a little  in  advance. 

(Sam  makes  a grab  at  the  sovereigns  playfully,  and  runs  at  bach 
to  1..,  followed  by  Mrs.  Willoughby,  whom  he  dodges  behind  a 
chair;  QxhSQut  writes  at  table) 


|CENE  I.]  TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN, 

• Mrs,  W.  {half  hysterically,  throwing  herself  into  a chair)  Oh! 
im— which  that  boy  will  be  the  death  of  his  poor  grandmother,  he  will. 
Sam,  {jurnpmg  over  chair-back,  on  which  he  perches  gives  back  mo7tey 
kisses  her)  There,  granny,  it  was  only  a lark. 

Mrs,  W,  {admiringly  and  affectionately)  Oh,  what  a boy  you  are. 

{^Exeunt  Mrs.  Willoughby  <2/2^  Sam,  l.  door 
Mr,  G,  {gives  note  to  Brierly.)  Here,  young  man,  bring  this  note  to 
y office,  25  St.  Nicholas  lane,  at  ten  o’clock  to-morrow.  I Ve  discharged 
y messenger ; we  ’ll  see  if  you  are  fit  for  the  place. 

Bri,  Oh,  sir  ! 

Mr.  G,  There— there— don’t  thank  me.  {Crosses  to  1.)  I like  grati- 
de  that  shows  itself  in  acts  like  yours  to  my  wife.  Let ’s  hope  your 
rother  will  repay  me  in  the  same  coin.  [Exit  R.  door, 

[May.  Robert,  the  money  has  brought  us  a blessing  already.  {He  takes 
r in  his  arms  exulting ly  ; music,  piano,) 


ACT  1 1 L 

:ene.— Mr.  Gibson’s  bill-broking  office  in  Nicholas  lane,  city;  a 
mahogany  railing  runs  up  the  stage,  separating  compartment,  L., 
{in  which  stand  across  the  stage  two  large  mahogany  desks,  set 
round  with  wire,  and  a brass  rail  at  the  top  to  support  books)  from 
the  compartment,  R.,  at  the  side  of  which,  in  side  flat,  R.  2d  E.,  is  the 
door  leading  to  Mr.  Gibson’s  private  office;  in  front  of  the  com- 
partment,  L.,  runs  a fnahog  any  counter,  with  a place  for  writing  at, 
divided  off,  L.;  a large  iron  safe  for  books  in  R.  flat ; another  safe, 
R.,  near  door ; door  communicating  with  passage  and  street,  in  C. 
fiat ; a small  desk  down  stage,  R.  ist  E.;  two  windows,  L. 

{As  the  curtain  rises,  Sam  is  discovered  carrying  the  ledgers  out  of 
safe,  ^.,  through  an  entrance  in  the  railing  to  comparhnent,  L, 
and  arranging  them  on  the  desks ; Brierly  is  discovered  at  the 
counter  nmnbering  cheques  in  a cheque-book,  L.) 

Sam,  (R.)  There  they  are,  all  ship-shape.  I say.  Bob,  if  granny  could 
i these  big  chaps,  {whilst  carrying  ledgers)  all  full  of  £,  s.  d.,  and  me 
much  at  home  with  them  as  old  Miggles  with  his  toy  terriers!  {Puts 
ks  on  desk,  and  returns  to  C.) 

Bri,  (L.)  Only  the  outsides,  Sam— fifty— fifty-one 

Sa77t,  Ever3/'thing  must  have  a beginning.  I 'm  only  under  messenger, 
vv,  at  six  bob  a week ; but  it ’s  the  small  end  of  the  wedge.  I don’t  mean 
stay  running  errands  and  dusting  books  long,  I can  tell  you.  I intend 
speculate — I ’m  in  two  tips  already 


32 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act 

Bri,  Tips?  ^ 1/ 

Sa77i,  Yes.  ( Takes  out  bettmg  book.)  I stand  to  win  a fiver  on  Po 
for  the  Derby,  and  a good  thing  on  the  Count  for  the  Ascot  Cup ; t 
were  at  Pollux  last  week,  but  he  s all  right  again,  and  the  Count’: 
splendid  form,  and  the  stable  uncommon  sweet  on  him. 

Bri.  Bring  me  those  pens.  {As  Sam  co7nes  to  hiTu  with  the  peTis 
C077tes  to  C.  aTid  catches  hhn  by  the  collar  and  shakes  htTul)  You  yoi 
rascal!  Now,  you  mark  me.  Master  Sam.  If  ever  I hear  of  you  putt 
into  a tip  again,  I 11  thrash  you  within  an  inch  of  your  life,  and  then 
split  on  you  to  Mr.  Gibson,  and  he  ’ll  discharge  you. 

SaTH.  Now  I call  that  mean.  One  city  gent  interfering  with  ano: 
city  gent’s  amusements. 

Bri.  {bitterly?^  Amusements ! When  you ’ve  seen  as  much  as  I h'c 
you  ’ll  know  what  comes  of  such  amusements,  lad. 

Sa77z.  As  if  I didn’t  know  well  enough  already.  Lark,  lush,  an< 
latch-key;  a swell  rig-out,  and  lots  of  ready  in  the  pockets;  a drag 
Epsom,  and  a champagne  lunch  on  the  hill!  Oh,  my— ain’t  it  st 
ning ! 

Bn.  Ah ! Sam,  that  s the  fancy  picture — mine  is  the  true  one.  Exq 
ment  first,  then  idleness  and  drink,  and  then  bad  companions,  sin,  shai 
and  a prison. 

Sa77t.  Come,  I don  t want  to  be  preached  to  in  office  hours ; grai 
gives  me  quite  enough  of  that  at  home ; ain’t  it  a bore,  just ! 

Bri.  Oh,  my  lad,  take  my  advice,  do!  Be  steady— stick  to  work  ^ 
home.  It’s  an  awful  look  out  for  a young  chap  adrift  in  this  place  wi 
out  them  sheet-anchors.  {Returns  to  counter,  L.)  ' 

Sa7n.  Oh,  I ain’t  afraid.  I cut  my  eye  teeth  early.  Tips  ain’t  wcs 
than  time  bargains;  and  they’re  business.  {Crosses  at  back  to  his  L.)  i 
don’t  look  glum.  Bob,  you  re  the  right  sort,  you  are,  and  sooner  than  1 
you  I’ll  cut  tips,  burn  “Bell’s  Life,”  and  take  to  Capel  Court  and  I 
“ Share  List,”  and  that ’s  respectable,  you  know.  (Sits  on  counter  1)  ; 

Bri.  {looking  over  cheque  bookl)  You,  young  rascal!  you’ve  made  \ 
misnumber  my  cheque. 

Sa7n.  Serves  you  jolly  well  right,  for  coming  to  business  on  your  we 
ding  day. 

Bri.  Oh  ! I ’ve  two  hours  good  before  I ’m  wanted  for  that. 

Sa7n.  I say  Bob,  you  don’t  mean  to  say  you ’ve  been  to  the  bank  fort 
petty  cash  this  morning? 

Bri.  Yes. 

SaTn.  And  didn’t  leave  the  notes  on  the  counter? 

Bri.  No. 

Sam.  And  did  n’t  have  your  pocket  picked  ? 

Bri.  No. 

Sam.  Well,  you  are  a cool  hand.  I ’ve  often  wondered  how  the  pfj 

• i 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


33 


SCENB  1.} 

chaps  in  Newgate  managed  to  eat  a good  breakfast  before  they’re  turned 
off.  But  a fellow  coming  to  office  the  morning  he ’s  going  to  be  spliced — 
and  when  the  governor  has  given  him  a holiday,  too— by  Jove,  it  beats 
the  Old  Bailey  by  lengths.  I hope  I shall  be  as  cool  when  I ’m  married. 

Bri,  You — you  young  cock-sparrow. 

Sain,  Yes.  I Ve  ordered  the  young  woman  I want  down  at  Birming- 
ham. Miss  Edwards  ain’t  my  style. 

Bri,  No — is  n’t  she  though  ? I ’m  sorry  it’s  too  late  to  have  her  altered. 

Sam,  She ’s  too  quiet — wants  go.  I like  high  action.  Now  I call  Mrs. 
Jones  a splendid  woman.  Sam  Willoughby,  Esquire,  must  have  a real  tip- 
top lady.  I don’t  mean  to  marry  till  I can  go  to  church  with  my  own 
brougham. 

Bri,  I suppose  that  means  when  you ’ve  set  up  as  a crossing  sweeper. 
And  now,  Sam,  till  your  brougham  comes  round  for  you,  just  trot  off  to 
the  stationer’s  and  see  if  Mr.  Gibson  s new  bill-case  is  ready. 

Sam,  {vaulting  over  the  counter,  sees  May  through  the  glass  door,  L., 
offl..  ist  E.)  All  right.  Here’s  Miss  Edwards  a coming  in  full  tog.  I 
twig— I ain’t  wanted.  Quite  correct — Samivel  is  fly.  {Puts  his  finger  to 
his  nose  and  exit,  C.) 

Enter  May,  l.,  in  wedding  dress, 

Bri,  Ah,  May,  darling ! ( Takes  her  by  the  hand  and  kisses  herl) 

Sam,  {looking  in.)  I saw  you  ! {Exit,  C.  D. 

Bri.  (R.)  Hang  that  boy!  But  never  mind  his  impudence,  my  own 
little  wife. 

May.  Not  yet,  sir. 

Bri.  In  two  hours. 

May.  There ’s  many  a slip  between  the  cup  and  the  lip,  you  know.  But 
as  the  clerks  are  n’t  come  yet,  I thought  I might  just  come  in  and  show 
you {Displays  her  dressl)  » 

Bri.  Your  wedding-gown ! 

May.  Yes.  It’s  Mrs.  Gibson’s  present,  with  such  a kind  note;  and 
she  insists  on  providing  the  wedding  breakfast ; and  she ’s  sent  in  the  most 
beautiful  cake,  and  flowers  from  their  own  conservatory.  My  little  room 
looks  so  pretty. 

Bri,  It  always  looks  pretty  when  thou  art  in  it.  I shall  never  miss  the 
' sun,  even  in  Nicholas  lane,  after  we  are  married,  darling. 

May.  Oh ! Robert,  won’t  it  be  delightful  ? Me,  housekeeper  here,  and 
you,  messenger,  and  such  a favorite,  too ! And  to  think  we  owe  all  to  these 
good,  kind,  generous- — There’s  only  one  thing  I can’t  get  off  my 
mind. 

Bri.  What ’s  that } 

May.  Mr.  Gibson  does  n’t  know  the  truth  about  you.  We  should  have 
told  him  before  this. 


34 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  in 


Bri,  It ’s  hard  for  a poor  chap  that  s fought  clear  of  the  mud,  to  let  g( 
the  rope  he  s holding  to,  and  slide  back  again.  I ’ll  tell  him  when  I ’ve  beei 
long  enough  here  to  try  me ; only  wait  a bit. 

May.  Perhaps  you  are  right,  dear.  Sometimes  the  thought  comes  Iik( 
a cloud  across  me.  But  you ’ve  never  said  how  you  like  my  dress.  (Z?/r- 
playing  it.) 

Brz,  I couldn’t  see  it  for  looking  at  thy  bonny  face;  but  it’s  a granc 
gown.  (Gets  round  at  back  to  L.) 

May.  And  my  own  making!  I forgot— Mrs.  Jones  is  come,  and  Mrs 
Willoughby.  They  ’re  going  to  church  with  us,  ycu  know ; Emily  looks  ic 
nice ; she  would  so  like  to  see  the  office,  she  says,  if  I might  bring  her  in. 

Bri.  Oh,  yes ; the  place  is  free  to  the  petticoats  till  business  hours. 

May,  (crosses  door,  L.,  and  calls  at  door,  L.)  Come  in,  Emily, 


Enter  Mrs.  Green  Jones,  l. 

Em,  Oh  ! Mr.  Brierly. 

May,  While  Robert  does  the  honors  of  the  office,  I ’ll  go  and  help  Mrs, 
Willoughby  to  set  out  the  breakfast.  The  white  service  looks  so  lovelyi 
Robert,  and  my  canary  sings  as  I haven’t  heard  him  since  I left  the  olcj 
lodgings.  He  knows  there ’s  joy  in  the  wind. 

Mrs,  W,  (calling  without?)  Miss  Edwards  ! i 

M ay.  There  ! I ’m  wanted.  I ’m  coming,  Mrs.  Willoughby.  Oh,  dear  1 
If  I’d  known  the  trouble  it  was  to  be  married,  I don’t  think  1 should  have 
ventured.  I ’m  coming.  ^Exit  L.  ist  E; 

Em,  (who  has  been  looking  about  her?)  I did  so  want  to  see  an  office-^ 
a real  one,  you  know.  I ’ve  seen  ’em  set  on  the  stage  often,  but  they  ^in’t 
a bit  like  the  real  thing.  , 

Bri,  They  are  but  dull  places.  Not  this  one,  though,  since  May  s beert 
housekeeper.  \ 

Ezn,  Yes,  they  are  dull,  but  so  respectable — look  so  like  money,  yo^ 
know,  f suppose,  now,  there ’s  no  end  of  money  passes  here  1 

Brz,  A hundred  thousand  pounds  a day,  sometimes. 

Em,  Gracious  goodness  ! All  in  sovereigns  } 

Brz,  Not  a farthing — all  in  cheques  and  bills.  We’ve  a few  thousands 
that  a queer,  old  fashioned  depositor  insists  on  Mr.  Gibson  keeping  here, 
but  except  that,  and  the  petty  cash,  there ’s  no  hard  money  in  the  place. 

Em.  Dear  me ! I thought  you  city  people  sat  on  stools  all  day  shov- 
eling sovereigns  about.  Not  that  I could  bear  to  think  of  Jones  sitting  on 
a stool  all  day,  even  to  shovel  about  sovereigns,  though  he  always  says 
something  in  the  city  would  suit  him  better  than  the  comic  duet  business. 
But  he  doesn’t  know  what’s  good  for  him — never  did,  poor  fellow. 

Brz,  Except  when  he  married  you. 

Ezn,  W^ell,  I don  t know  about  that,  but  I suppose  he  would  have  got 
through  the  property  without  me — he ’s  so  much  the  gentleman,  you  know. 


Scene  i.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


35 


Brz\  He ’s  coming  to  church  with  us  ? 

Em.  Oh,  yes!  You  know  he’s  to  give  away  the  bride.  But  he  was 
•bliged  to  keep  an  appointment  in  the  city  first ; so  queer  for  Jones,  wasn’t 
: ? He  would  n’t  tell  me  what  it  was. 

Green,  {heard  without,  L.  C.)  Two-and-six,  my  man.  Very  good,  wait. 
Bri.  Here ’s  your  husband  ! 

Em.  (looking  through  door,  C.)  In  a cab— and  a new  coat  and  waist- 
oat,  and  trousers  ! Oh,  Jones  ! Well,  I shan’t  pay  for  them. 

Enter  Green  Jones,  l.  c.,  in  a gorgeous  new  suit. 

Green,  (speaking  off.)  Now,  hand  me  out  those  parcels— yah,  stupid, 
ive  me  hold.  (Hands  in  parcels  one  by  one.)  Here,  bear  a hand. 

(He  pitches  parcels  to  Brierly,  who  pitches  them  on  to  Mrs.  Green 
Jones,  who  deposits  them  on  the  counter,  L.) 

Em.  (as  first  bonnet  box  comes  in.)  Jones!  (As  second  bonnet  box 
}mes  mi)  Green  ! (As  case  of  eau-de-cologne  comes  in.)  Green  Jones ! 
jlove  box  comes  ini)  Oh  ! (Two  bouquets  in  paper  are  given  in.)  Gra- 
ous  goodness ! 

Green.  There  all  out.  Let ’s  see — bonnets,  eau-de-cologne,  gloves, 
luquets — seven  ten  ; two  and  six  the  cab — my  own  togs,  five  ten — that ’s 
irteen  two  and  six  in  all. 

Em.  Jones,  are  you  mad.^ 

Green.  Is  your  principal  here,  Brierly? 

Bri.  The  governor?  No,  it ’s  not  his  time  yet. 

Green,  (en  attendant i)  You  could  n’t  advance  me  thirteen  two  six,  could 
u? 

Bri.  What ! lend  you  the  money  ? I ’m  afraid 

Em.  (reproachfullyi)  Oh,  Jones  ! 

Green.  Emily,  be  calm.  It ’s  not  the  least  consequence.  They  can 
dt  the  shopman,  I mean — that  is — the  two  shopmen  and  cabby. 

Em.  Oh,  he ’s  gone  crazy ! 

Green.  The  fact  is,  I ve  had  a windfall.  Choker  Black  has  turned  up 
imps.  He  was  put  in  the  hole  in  California ’s  a year,  had  to  bolt  to  Aus- 
dia  struck  an  awfully  full  pocket  at  the  diggings,  and  is  paying  off  hi'^ 

I ticks  like  an  emperor.  He  let  me  in  for  two  thousand,  and  he  has  sen,. 

: bills  for  five  hundred,  as  a first  installment. 

Km.  Five  hundred  ! And  you’ve  got  the  money? 

'Green.  I ’ve  got  the  bills  on  his  agent.  Here  they  are.  Emily,  em- 
ice  your  husband  ! (He  kisses  heri) 

Bn.  (r.)  I wish  you  joy — both  of  you.  Mr.  Gibson  will  discount  the 
Is  for  you  as  soon  as  he  comes  in. 

.rreen,  (c.)  But,  I say,  cash,  you  know,  no  curious  sherry— no  old  mas- 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


36 


[Act  1 


ters,  or  patent  filters — I Ve  had  rather  too  much  of  that  sort  of  thing  in  i 
time. 

Em,  (l.,  'Who  has  been  peeping  into  bonnet  box.)  What  a duck  ol 
bonnet! 

Bri,  No,  you  ’re  not  among  your  old  sixty  per  cent,  friends  here.  \ 
only  do  good  bills  at  the  market  rate. 

Em,  (who  has  opened  glove  box.)  And  what  loves  of  gloves : 

Green.  That ’s  your  sort.  I feel  now  the  full  value  of  the  commerc 
principle. 

Em.  Oh,  Green ! But  you  ’ll  be  careful  of  the  money 

Green,  Careful ! I’m  an  altered  man.  Henceforth  I swear — yoi] 
allow  me  to  register  a vow  in  your  office  ? — to  devote  myself  to  the  \ 
tuous  pursuit  of  money-making.  I ’m  worth  five  hundred  pounds,  I ’ve  : 
teen  hundred  more  coming  in.  Not  one  farthing  of  the  money  shall  go 
foolish  extravagance. 

Em,  But  how  about  these  things,  Jones? 

Green,  Trifles ; — a cadeau  de  noce  for  the  ladies,  and  a case  of  eau-^ 
cologne  for  myself.  I ’ve  been  running  to  seed  so  long,  and  want  wat; 
ing  so  much.  (Sprinkles  himself  with  eau-de-colognei) 

Em,  Oh  dear.  Green  I I ’m  afraid  you  ’re  as  great  a fool  as  ever.  ;! 

Bri,  Nay,  nay,  Mrs.  Jones — no  man’s  a fool  with  ;£5oo  in  his  pocli 
But  here  come  the  clerks;  band-boxes  and  bouquets  ain’t  business-li 
You  must  carry  these  down  to  May. 

Green,  (loading  Emily  with  the  parcels?)  Beg  her  acceptance  o 
bonnet,  a bouquet,  and  a box  of  Fiver’s  seven  and  a quarter’s ; and  .aco 
the  same  yourself,  from  yours  ever  affectionately,  G.  J.  (Tries  to  kiss  i 
over  the  parcels,  but  cannotl)  ( 

Em,  (from  over  the  parcels?)  Oh,  go  along  with  your  nonsense  ! 
give  you  one  down  stairs.  S^Extt  L.  isv 

Enter  Mr.  Burton  and  Mr.  Sharpe,  clerks,  l.  c.  ' 


Sharpe,  Good  morning.  Governor  come  yet  ? 

Bri,  Not  yet,  Mr.  Sharpe ; it ’s  getting  near  his  time,  though.  (Cle 
hang  up  their  hats,  coats,  &^c.,  and  seat  theinselves  at  desks,  L.) 
Sharpe,  (to  Mr.  Green  Jones.)  Can  we  do  anything  for  you,  sir? 
Bri,  (indicating  GREEN  JONES.)  This  gentleman ’s  waiting  to  see  ' 

Gibson.  Here  he  is.  j 

Enter  Mr.  GiBSON,  L.  C. 


Mr,  G,  (rubbing  his  feet  on  the  mat.)  Good  morning,  morning,  II 
Sharpe— good  morning,  Burton.  Well,  Robert ; didn’t  expect  to  find 
at  the  office  this  morning.  H 

Bri,  Here ’s  a gentleman  waiting  for  you,  sir,  on  business. 

Mr,  G,  If  you’ll  walk  into  my  room,  sir?  |j 

\^Exit  Green  Jones  into  Mr.  Gibson’s  room,  r.  2c| 


:ene  l] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


37 


Brz,  (R.)  I thought  I might  as  well  number  the  cheques,  sir,  and  go 
r the  petty  cash.  Somehow,  I felt  1 should  n’t  like  anything  to  go  wrong 
-day. 

Mr,  G.  (C.)  Well,  that ’s  a very  proper  feeling.  I hope  May  likes  my 
fe’s  present.  She  is  a first-rate  housekeeper,  though  she  did  call  you 
r brother,  the  little  rogue — and  I Ve  every  reason  to  be  satisfied  with 

u. 

Bri,  I *m  right  proud  of  that,  sir. 

Mr,  G,  You  won’t  mind  my  giving  you  a word  of  advice  on  your  wed- 
ng-day  ? Go  on  as  you ’ve  begun— keep  a bright  eye  and  an  inquiring 
ngue  in  your  head — learn  how  business  is  done — watch  the  market — and 
Dm  what  I ’ve  seen  of  you  the  six  months  you ’ve  been  here,  I should  n’t 
Dnder  if  I found  a better  berth  than  messenger  for  you  one  of  these 
lys. 

Bri,  Mr.  Gibson— sir— I can  \ thank  you— but  a look  out  like  that— it 
kes  a man’s  breath  away. 

Mr,  G,  In  the  city  there ’s  no  gap  between  the  first  round  of  the  ladder 
id  the  top  of  the  tree.  But  that  gentleman ’s  waiting.  {Pauses;  goes  to 
wry  R.)  By-the-way,  I expect  a call  from  a Mr.  Hawkshaw. 

Bri,  {starting:)  Hawkshaw ! 

Mr,  G,  Yes,  the  famous  detective.  Show  him  in  when  he  comes, 
ve  a particular  appointment  with  him. 

\Exit  Mr.  Gibson  mto  his  own  roozn,  r.  2d  e. 
Bri,  Hawkshaw  coming  here ! The  principal  witness  against  me  at 
y trial.  Perhaps  he  won’t  know  me— I ’m  much  changed.  But  they  say, 
Portland,  he  never  forgets  a face.  If  he  knows  me,  and  tells  Mr.  Gib- 
)n,  he  ’ll  discharge  me— and,  to-day,  just  when  we  looked  to  be  so  happy  1 
would  break  May’s  heart.  But  why  should  I stay } I ’m  free  for  the 
iy — I will  not  wait  to  meet  my  ruin.  {Going  up  C.) 

Enter  Hawkshaw.  l.  c. 

Hawk,  (r.  C.)  Mr.  Gibson  within  ? 

Bri,  (l.  C.)  Yes,  sir,  but  he  has  a gentleman  with  him. 

Hawk,  Take  in  my  name.  ( Writes  on  a card  with  pencily  and  gives 
' to  Brierly.) 

Bri,  (takes  card  and  crossing  to  R.  sees  name  on  it;  aside?)  Hawk- 
law ! It  is  too  late ! Would  you  like  to  look  at  the  paper,  sir?  {Offers 
im  one  from  desk?) 

Hawk,  {as  he  takes  ity  gives  a keen  look  of  recognition  at  Brierly, 
'^ho  shrinks  under  his  eye,  but  represses  his  agitation  by  an  eff ort?)  I ve 
^en  you  before,  I think  ? 

Bri,  I don’t  recollect  you,  sir. 

Hawk,  (carelessly?)  Perhaps  I ’m  wrong — though  I ’ve  a good  memory 
)r  faces.  Take  in  my  card.  (Brierly  ^R.,  with  card;  sitSy  L.) 


38 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN, 


[Act  I] 


It’s  Dalton’s  pal;  the  youngster  who  got  four  years  for  passing  forge 
Bank  of  England  paper,  at  the  Bellevue  Tea  Gardens.  I owe  Master  Da 
ton  one  for  that  night.  Back  from  Portland,  eh ! Looks  all  the  better  f( 
his  schooling.  But  Portland ’s  an  odd  shop  to  take  an  office  messeng 
from.  I wonder  if  his  employer  got  his  character  from  his  last  place. 

Re-enter  Brierly,  r. 

Bri,  Mr.  Gibson  will  see  you  in  a moment,  sir. 

Hawk,  Very  well.  {Gives  him  a looki) 

Re-enter  Green  Jones  from  Mr.  Gibson’s  room,  r.,  with  cheque. 

Green,  {to  Brierly.)  All  right  Market  rate — and  no  old  masten 
I ’ll  drive  to  the  bank,  cash  this,  settle  with  those  counter-skippers,  and  rattl 
back  ii?  time  to  see  you  turned  off.  I say — you  must  allow  me  to  order 
little  dinner  at  the  ‘‘Star  and  Garter,”  and  drive  you  down — all  right  yo 
know.  Mail  phaeton  and  pair— your  wife  and  my  wife.  I want  to  shoN 
you  the  style  G.  J.  used  to  do  it  in.  {Goes  up.)  Now,  cabby,  pull  rounq 
{Speaking  loudly i)  London  Joint  Stock  Bank — best  pace. 

\^Exit  Green  Jones,  l.  c 

Bri,  {aside!)  He  little  thinks  what  may  be  hanging  over  me. 

Mr.  G.  {appearing  at  the  door  of  his  room,  R.)  Now,  Mr.  Hawkshaw^ 
I ’m  at  your  service.  ^ 

Hawk,  {crosses  to  R.,  then  returning  Brierly  the  paper!)  Cool  cast 
of  note  passing  that  at  Bow  street,  yesterday.  (Brierly  winces ; aside. 
It’s  my  man,  sure  enough.  \Exit  into  Gibson’s  room,  R 

Bri.  He  knows  me — I can  read  it  in  his  face — his  voice.  He  ’ll  tell  Mr! 
Gibson ! Perhaps  he ’s  telling  him  now ! I wish  I ’d  spoken  to  him — bii( 
they  have  no  mercy.  Oh,  if  I ’d  only  made  a clean  breast  of  it  to  Mr.  Gib) 
son  before  this ! ^ 

Enter  GiBSON  and  Hawkshaw  from  Gibson’s  room,  r.  ! 

Mr.  G.  {to  first  clerk!)  Mr.  Sharpe,  will  you  go  round  to  the  banks 
and  see  what ’s  doing?  (Sharpe  takes  his  hat  and  exits  L.  c.)  Mr.  Bur- 
ton, you  ’ll  be  just  in  time  for  morning’s  clearance. 

Burton,  {getting  his  hat ; aside!)  By  Jove!  the  governor  wants  to 
make  a morning’s  clearance  of  us,  I think.  I ’m  half  an  hour  too  soon  foi 
the  Clearing  House.  Time  for  a tip-top  game  at  billiards.  \^Exit,  L.  C, 

Mr.  G.  Robert ! ( Writing  at  desk,  R.) 

Bri.  Yes,  sir. 

Mr.  G.  Before  you  leave,  just  step  round  into  Glynn’s  and  get  me  cash 

for  this.  You’ll  have  time  enough  before  you’re  wanted  down  stairs,  yo| 

rascal.  ? 

■ji 

Bri.  {aside!)  He  knows  nothing.  {Aloud!)  I ’ll  be  back  in  five  min^J 
utes,  sir.  | 


GENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


39 


' (As  Gibson  /s  about  giving  him  the  chequey  Hawkshaw,  who  is 
standing  between  Gibson  and  Brierly,  interposes,  and  takes 
cheque  carelessly^) 

Hawk,  (R.  C.)  Your  messenger,  eh? 

Mr,  G.  (R.)  Yes. 

Hawk,  Had  him  long? 

Mr,  G,  Six  months. 

Hawk,  Good  character? 

Mr,  G,  Never  had  a steadier,  soberer,  better-behaved  lad  in  the  office. 

Hawk,  Had  you  references  with  him  ? 

Mr,  G,  Why,  I think  I took  him  mainly  on  the  strength  of  his  own 
ood  looks  and  his  sweetheart  s.  An  honest  face  is  the  best  testimonial 
fter  all. 

Hawk,  H’m— neither  is  always  to  be  relied  on. 

Mr,  G,  You  detectives  would  suspect  your  own  fathers.  Why,  how 
iou  look  at  the  lad.  Come,  you  Ve  never  had  him  through  your  hands. 
A pausel) 

Hawk,  (r.  C.)  No,  he ’s  quite  a stranger  to  me.  (Turns  away,)  Here ’s 
he  cheque,  young  man.  Take  care  you  make  no  mistake  about  it. 

Bri,  (aside,  going  C.)  Saved!  saved!  Heaven  bless  him  for  those 
vords.  \Extty  L.  C. 

. Hawk,  (asidel)  Poor  devil,  he ’s  paid  his  debt  at  Portland.  (Aloud,) 
^ow,  to  business.  You  say  a bill  drawn  by  Vanzeller  & Co.,  of  Penang, 
)n  the  London  Joint  Stock  Bank,  was  presented  for  discount  here,  last 
light,  which  you  know  to  be  a forgery  ? 

Mr,  G,  Yes.  As  it  was  after  hours,  the  clerk  told  the  presenter  to  call 

his  morning. 

Hawk,  Bill-forging  is  tip-top  work.  The  man  who  did  this  job  knows 
vhat  he  s about.  We  mustn’t  alarm  him.  What  time  did  the  clerk  tell 
hm  to  call? 

Mr,  G.  At  eleven. 

Hawk.  It’s  within  five  minutes.  You  go  to  your  room.  I’ll  take  my 
3lace  at  one  of  these  desks  as  a clerk,  and  send  the  customers  in  to  you. 
When  the  forged  bill  is  presented,  you  come  to  the  door  and  say,  loud 
mough  for  me  to  hear— “ Vanzeller  & Co.,  Penang,”  and  leave  the  rest  to 
aie. 

Mr,  G,  (nervously  1)  Hadn’t  I better  have  assistance  within  call? 

Hawk,  Oh  dear,  no — I like  to  work  single  handed ; but  don’t  be  ex- 
bited.  Take  it  coolly,  or  you  may  frighten  the  bird.  (Goes  to  desk,  L.) 

Mr,G,  Easy  to  say  take  it  coolly!  I haven’t  been  thief-catching  all 
life.  S^Exit  Gibson  into  his  room,  L, 

Enter  Moss,  C.,  and  down  C. 

Moss,  (at  the  counter , getting  out  his  bills,)  Let  me  see  Spelter  and 


40 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  III 


Wayne.  Fifty,  ten,  three— thirty  days  after  sight.  That’s  commercial 
{Examtmng  another  bzll.)  For  two  hundred  at  two  months-drawn  bi 
Captain  Crabbs— accepted  the  Honorable  Augustus  Greenway.  That ’s 
Airty  per  center.  Better  try  that  at  another  shop.  ( Takes  out  another  '. 
Thatlfd^herf'  paper-ninety-nine,  eight,  two-at  sixty  days 


Mr.  G.  (at  door  of  his  room,  r.)  Mr.  Hawkshaw ! 
Hawk.  H — sh  ! 


(Crosses  to  R.,  warns  him  against  using  his  name,  but  obeys  his  call, 
and  goes  m.) 

Moss,  (on  hearing  name.)  Hawkshaw!  (With  a quick  glance  as 
HAWKSHAW/aw^jy«/-^,  Mr.  Gibson’s  A detective  here  ' Ware- 

hawk  ! (Alarmed,  but  recovering^)  Well,  it  ain’t  for  me-I ’m  all  on  the 
square,  now.  If  bills  will  go  missing,  it  ain’t  me  that  steals  ’em ; Tiger 
does  that ; I am  always  a bona  fide  holder  for  value ; I can  face  any  examin- 
ation, I can.  But  I should  like  to  know  Hawkshaw’s  little  game,  and  \ 
should  nt  mind  spoiling  it.  (Re-enter  Hawkshaw,  r.)  Mr.  Gibson  if 
you  please  ? ' ; 

Hawk.  He ’s  in  his  office,  sir.  (As  Moss  f asses  in  he  recognises  him.) 
Melter  Moss  here!  Can  he  be  the  forger!  He  heard  my  name.  Dear,' 
dear,  to  think  that  a business  man  like  Mr.  Gibson  should  be  green  enough! 
to  call  a man  like  me  by  his  name.  (Re-enter  Moss,  R.)  Here  he  comes 
now  for  the  signal.  (Goes  to  desk,  L.) 

Moss,  (coming  down  with  cheques  and  bill  book?)  All  right ! Beautiful 
paper,  most  of  it.  One,  two  of  ’em  fishy.  Well,  I ’ll  try  them  three  doOrs ! 
down;  they  ain’t  so  particular.  j 

Hawk,  {aside.)  No  signal ! i 

Moss,  (in  front  of  counter,  L.)  If  you  ’ll  allow  me,  I ’ll  take  a dip  of' 
your  ink,  young  man ; I ’ve  an  entry  to  make  in  my  bill  book.  (Hawk-  i 
so.  Ayr  pitches  him  a fieni)  Thank  you.  QAosswrites:)  i 


Enter  Dalton,  l.  C.,  dressed  as  a respectable  elderly  commercial  man,  in  ’’ 
as  complete  contrast  as  possible  with  his  appearance  in  first  act;  ii 
comes  down,  C.  ^ | 

Dal.  Mr.  Gibson  ? ( T akes  out  his  bill  case?)  I 

Hawk,  (at  desk,  L.)  You’ll  find  him  in  his  office,  sir.  J 

Dal.  (aside.)  That ’s  not  the  young  man  I saw  here  yesterday  afternoon.  | 
(Aloud?)  Let  me  see  first  that  I ve  got  the  bill.  (Rummages for  bill?)  1 
Moss,  (recognizing  Dalton.)  Tiger  here,  in  his  city  get  up ! Oh,  oh ! | 
If  this  should  be  Hawkshaw’s  little  game  } I ’ll  drop  him  a line.  I 

(Writes,  crosses  to  C.,  and  passes  paper  secretly  to  Dalton,  with  aM 
significant  look,  and  taking  care  to  keep  behind  the  railing  of  ihe\ 
counter^ 


ENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


41 


Val.  {recognizing  htm^  Moss!  {Taking  paper,  reads^  **Hawkshaw’s 
that  desk.”  Forewarned,  forearmed ! {Goes  up^ 

Moss,  {goes  up  C.)  There,  I hope  I Ve  spoiled  Hawkshaw’s  little  game. 

\Exit  Moss. 

Mr.  Gibson  appears  at  door  of  office,  R. 

Mr.  G.  {about  to  address  Hawkshaw  again.)  Mr. 

Hawk,  {hastily  interrupting  him.)  H — sh  ! a party  wants  to  see  you, 

, if  you  could  step  this  way  for  a moment. 

DaL  Would  you  oblige  me,  Mr.  Gibson,  by  looking  very  particularly 
this  bill } {Gives  it  to  Gibson,  who  comes  ddw7il) 

Mr.  G.  (c.)  '‘Vanzeller  & Co.,  Penang.”  {Glances  at  Hawkshaw, 
de,  who  crosses  and  seats  hhnself  at  desk,  R.)  He  don’t  stir!  ‘Wan- 
ler  & Co.,  Penang.”  {Aside.)  Confound  it,  I haven’t  made  a blunder, 
/e  I!  “Vanzeller  & Co.,  Penang.”  {Hawkshaw prepares  handcuffs 
der  the  desk.) 

Val.  Yes,  a most  respectable  firm.  But  all’s  not  gold  that  glitters; 
bought  the  paper  as  safe  as  you  do,  but  unluckily  I burnt  my  fingers 
:h  it  once  before.  You  may  or  may  not  remember  my  presenting  a bill 
iwn  by  the  same  firm  for  discount  two  months  ago. 

Mr.  G.  Yes,  particularly  well. 

Dal.  Well,  sir,  I have  now  discovered  that  was  a forgery. 

Mr.  G.  So  have  I. 

Dal.  And  I ’m  sadly  afraid,  between  you  and  me By  the  way,  I 

pe  I may  speak  safely  before  your  clerk ! 

Mr.  G.  Oh,  quite. 

Dal.  I ’m  almost  satisfied  that  this  bill  is  a forgery,  too.  The  other  has 
tn  impounded,  I hear.  My  object  in  coming  here  yesterday  was,  first  to 
ify,  if  possible,  the  forgery  in  the  case  of  this  second  bill ; and  next,  to 
c your  assistance,  as  you  had  given  value  for  the  first  as  well  as  myself, 
bringing  the  forger  to  justice.  (Hawkshaw  looks  up  as  if  in  douhtl) 
Mr.  G.  Really,  sir  

Dal.  Oh,  my  dear  sir ! If  we  city  men  don’t  stand  by  each  other  ia 
tse  rascally  cases  ’ But  before  taking  any  other  step,  there  is  one  thing 
we  to  myself,  as  well  as  to  you,  and  that  is,  to  repay  you  the  amount  of 
i first  forged  bill. 

Mr.  G.  But  you  said  you  had  given  value  for  it? 

Dal.  The  more  fool  I ! But  if  I am  to  pay  twice,  that  is  no  reason  you 
)uld  be  a loser.  I ’ve  a memorandum  of  the  amount  here.  {Looks  at 
' bill  bookl)  Two  hundred  and  twenty — seven — five.  Here  are  notes — 

□ hundreds — a ten  — and  two  fives — seven — and  one — two — three 

ounting  out  copper  1) 

Mr,  G.  Oh!  pray,  sir,  don’t  trouble  yourself  about  the  coppers. 

Dal.  I ’m  particular  in  these  matters.  Excuse  me — it ’s  a little  pecu- 


42 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  ii: 


liarity  of  mii;ie — {counting  out  coppers)  three — four— five.  There,  that* 
off  my  conscience ! But  you  Ve  not  examined  the  notes.  (Hawksha\ 
pockets  handcuff  si) 

M r.  G,  Oh,  my  dear  sir.  {Putting  them  upi) 

Dal.  Ah  ! careless,  careless ! {Shakes  his  head.)  Luckily,  I had  en 
dorsed  ’em. 

Mr.  G.  Really,  sir,  I had  marked  that  two  hundred  and  twenty  off  to  ; 
bad  debt  a month  ago.  By  the  way,  I have  not  the  pleasure  of  knowing 
your  name. 

Dal.  Wake,  sir — Theopilus  Wake,  of  the  firm  of  Wake  Bros.,  shipper 
and  wharfingers,  Limehouse  and  Dock  street,  Liverpool.  We  have  j 
branch  establishment  at  Liverpool.  Here ’s  our  card.  {Gives  card?) 

Mr.  G.  So  far  from  expecting  you  to  repay  the  money,  I thought  yoi 
were  coming  to  bleed  me  afresh  with  forged  bill  No.  2,  for  a forgery  it  is 
most  certainly. 

Dal.  Quite  natural,  my  dear  sir;  my  dear  sir,  quite  natural;  I’ve  m 
right  to  feel  the  least  hurt. 

Mr.  G.  And  what’s  more,  I had  a detective  at  that  desk  ready  t^ 
pounce  upon  you. 

Dal.  No,  really. 

Air.  G.  You  can  drop  the  clerk,  now,  Mr.  Hawkshaw.  (Hawksha'V^ 
co7ncs  down,  R.) 

Dal.  Hawkshaw ! Have  I the  honor  to  address  Mr.  Hawkshaw,  th< 
detective— the  hero  of  the  great  gold  dust  robberies,  and  the  famous  Trunk 
line  transfer  forgeries.  {Crosses  to  c.) 

Hawk.  I 'm  the  man,  sir.  I believe {Modestly I)  ' ■ 

Dal.  Sir,  the  whole  commercial  world  owes  you  a debt  of  gratitude  i] 
can  never  repay.  I shall  have  to  ask  your  valuable  assistance  in  discovert 
ing  the  author  of  these  audacious  forgeries.  i; 

Hawk.  Have  you  any  clue } \ 

Dal.  (c.)  I believe  they  are  the  work  of  a late  clerk  of  ours,  who  go! 
into  gay  company,  poor  lad,  and  has  gone  to  the  bad.  He  knew  the  Van- 
zellers’  signature,  as  they  were  old  correspondents  of  ours. 

Hawk,  (r.)  Is  the  lad  in  London  ? 

Dal.  He  v/as  within  a week. 

Hawk.  Can  you  give  me  a description  of  him.^  Age — height — hail 
• — eyes — complexion — last  address — haunts — habits — associates — {signiff 
cantly)  any  female  connection  ? 

Dal.  Unluckily  I know  very  little  of  him  personally.  My  partner,  Wal- 
ter Wake,  can  supply  all  the  information  you  want. 

Hawk.  Where  shall  I find  him  } 

Dal.  Here  s our  card.  We  ’ll  take  a cab  and  question  him  at  our  office. 
Or,  {as  if  struck  by  a sudden  thought)  suppose  you  bring  him  here,  so 
that  we  may  all  lay  our  heads  together. 


iCENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


43 


, Hawk,  You’ll  not  leave  this  office  till  I come  back? 

I Dal,  If  Mr.  Gibson  will  permit  me  to  wait. 

Mr,  G,  I shall  feel  extremely  obliged  to  you. 

Hawk,  You  may  expect  me  back  in  half  an  hour  at  farthest — (^going 
p C,y  returns)  egad,  sir,  you  ’ve  had  a narrow  escape.  I had  the  darbies 
pen  under  the  desk.  {Showing  handcuffs?) 

Dal,  Ha,  ha,  ha ! how  very  pleasant.  ( Takes  and  examines  handcuffs 
}iriousfy,) 

‘ Hawk,  But  I ’ll  soon  be  down  on  this  youngster. 

, Mr,  G,  If  only  he  hasn’t  left  London. 

Hawk,  Bless  you,  they  can’t  leave  London.  Like  the  moths,  they  turn 
nd  turn  about  the  candle  till  they  burn  the  wings. 

, Dal,  Ah ! thanks  to  men  like  you.  How  little  society  is  aware  of  what 
. owes  its  detective  benefactors. 

Hawk,  There’s  the  satisfaction  of  doing  one’s  duty — and  something 
Ise  now  and  then. 

Mr,  G,  Ah  ! a good  round  reward. 

Hawk,  That ’s  not  bad ; but  there ’s  something  better  than  that. 

Dal,  Indeed ! 

Hawk,  Paying  off  old  scores.  Now,  if  I could  only  clinch  the  darbies 
n Jem  Dalton’s  wrists. 

Dal,  Dalton ! What ’s  your  grudge  against  him  in  particular 

Hawk,  He  was  the  death  of  my  pal— the  best  mate  I ever  had— poor 
oe  Skirrit.  {Draws  his  hands  across  his  eyes?)  I shall  never  work  with 
uch  another. 

Llr.  G,  Did  he  murder  him  ? 

Hawk,  Not  to  say  murdered  him  right  out.  But  he  spoiled  him — gave 
dm  a clip  on  the  head  with  a neddy — a life-preserver.  He  was  never  his 
wn  man  afterwards.  He  left  the  force  on  a pension,  but  he  grew  sort  of 
laralyzed,  and  then  got  queer  in  his  head.  I was  sitting  with  him  the  week 
»efore  he  died.  “Jack,”  he  says— it  was  Joe  and  Jack  with  us— “Jack,”  he 
ays,  “ I lay  my  death  at  the  Tiger’s  door  ” — that  was  the  name  we  had 
or  Dalton  in  the  force. — “ You’ll  look  after  him,  Jack,  he  says,  “for  the 

.ake  of  an  old  comrade.”  By no,  I won’t  say  what  I said,  but  I prom- 

:ed  him  to  be  even  with  Jem  Dalton,  and  I ’ll  keep  my  word. 

Dal,  (c.)  You  know  this  Dalton.^ 

Hawk,  (r.)  Know  him ! He  has  as  many  outsides  as  he  has  aliases. 
I ou  may  identify  him  for  a felon  to-day,  and  pull  your  hat  off  to  him,  a 
)arson,  to-morrow.  But  I ’ll  hunt  him  out  of  all  his  skins,  and  my  best 
light’s  sleep  will  be  the  day  I ’ve  brought  Jem  Dalton  to  the  dock ! 

Dal,  Mr.  Hawkshaw,  I wish  you  every  success ! 

Hawk,  But  I’ve  other  fish  to  fry  now.  {Going  upy  looks  at  card?) 
N ake  Brothers,  Buckle’s  Wharf,  Limehouse,  \Exit  Hawk.,  C. 


44 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  id 


Dal.  Ask  anybody  for  our  office ! {Asidel)  And  if  anybody  c'an  te 
you  I shall  be  astonished.  {Following  him  up,  then  returning.) 

G.  I m really  ashamed  to  keep  you  waiting',  sir. 

Dal.  Oh,  1 can  write  my  letters  here,  {pointing  to  the  counter)  if  yo 
don  t mind  trusting  me  all  alone  in  your  office. 

Mr.  G.  My  dear  sir,  if  you  were  Dalton  himself— the  redoubtable  Tige 
—you  could  n’t  steal  ledgers  and  day-books,  and  there ’s  nothing  more  val 
uable  here— except,  by  the  way,  my  queer  old  depositor.  Miss  Faddle’s 
live  thousand,  that  she  insists  on  my  keeping  here  in  the  office  in  gold,  a 
she  believes  neither  in  banks  nor  bank-notes.  And,  talking  of  notes, 
may  as  well  lock  up  these  you  so  handsomely  paid  me.  {Goes  to  safe,  R. 

Dal.  Not  believe  in  notes!  Infatuated  woman ! {Aside.)  I hope  he ’1 
like  mine. 


Mr,  G,  {locks  safel)  I ’ll  leave  you  to  'write  your  letters. 

\Exit  Mr.  Gibson  into  his  office,  r 
DaL  Phew ! ( Whistles  low.)  That ’s  the  narrowest  shave  I ever  had 
So,  Jack  Hawkshaw,  you  ’ll  be  even  with  Jem  Dalton  yet,  will  you,?  Yot 
may  add  this  day’s  work  to  the  score  against  him.  How  the  old  bo] 
swallowed  my  soft  sawder  and  Brummagem  notes ! They  ’re  beauties ! I! 
would  be  a pity  to  leave  them  in  his  hands— and  five  thousand  shinen 
p raps  alongside  of  em.  Come — I Ve  my  wax  handy — never  travel  with- 
out  my  tools.  Here  goes  for  a squeeze  at  the  lock  of  this  safe.  ! 


{Goes  to  safe,  R.,  and  by  means  of  a pick-lock  applies  wax  to  the. 

wards  of  the  lock  by  the  key-hole.  Music,  pianol)  ; 

Enter  Brierly,  Q,from  i.  ! 

Brz,  {hangs  up  hat  L.)  Clerks  not  returned.  Hawkshaw  gone.?  {See\ 

Dalton  at  safe.)  Holloa!  who’s  this.?  Tampering  with  the  safe! 

Hold  hard  there ! {He  seizes  Dalton,  who  ttirns.)  ^ 

Dal,  {aside,  R.)  Brierly  ! Hands  off,  young  ’un.  Don’t  you  know 
locksmith  when  you  see  him .? 

Bn,  (r.  c.)  Gammon  ! Who  are  you .?  How  came  you  here .?  What 
are  you  doing  with  that  safe .? 

Dal,  You  ask  a great  deal  too  many  questions. 

Bn,  I ’ll  trouble  you  to  answer  ’em. 

Dal,  By  what  right .? 

Bn,  I m messenger  in  this  office,  and  I ’ve  a right  to  know  who  touches 
a lock  here.  ' ^ 

Dal.  You  messenger  here?  Indeed!  and  suppose  I took  to  asking 
questions  you  mightn’t  be  so  keen  of  answering  yourself — Robert  Bri- 
erly ! 

Bri,  Y ou  know  me  I 

Dal,  Yes.  And  your  character  from  your  last  place — Port - 


Scene  i.l 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


45 


Bri.  {terrified^  Hush ! r . • 

Dal.  Your  hair  hasn’t  grown  so  fast  but  I can  see  traces  of  the  pnson- 


;rop. 

Bri.  For  mercy’s  sake ! , , r 

Dal.  Silence  for  silence.  Ask  me  no  questions  and  I 11  press  for  no 


Bri.  You  must  explain  your  business  here  to  Mr.  Gibson.  I suspected 
/ou  for  a thief.  ... 

Dal.  And  I know  you  for  a jail-bird.  Let ’s  see  whose  information  will 

U the  farthest.  There,  I ’ll  make  you  a fair  offer,  Robert  Bnerly.  Let  me 
pass,  and  I leave  this  place  without  breathing  a word  to  your  employer 
that  you  ’re  fresh  from  a sentence  of  penal  servitude  for  four  years.  De- 
tain me,  and  I denounce  you  for  the  convict  you  are ! (A  knock  at  the 


door.) 

■ Mrs.  W.  {without?)  Mr.  Brierly! 

Bri.  Hush!  Coming;,  Mrs.  Willoughby. 

Dal.  Is  it  a bargain.^  _ r.  r ^ 

Go— go— anything  to  escape  this  exposure.  {Giving  him  his  hat, 

&^c.,from  counter,  L.)  • i xt  u n 

Dal.  {at  door?)  There’s  Aby  Moss,  waiting  for  me  outside.  He  shall 

blow  the  lad  to  Gibson.  He  may  be  useful  to  us,  and  I owe  him  one  for 

...  ^ \Exit  Dalton,  l.  c. 

spoiling  my  squeeze.  L 

Enter  Mrs.  Willoughby,  l.  ist  e. 


Mrs  '^V  Which  I ’ve  to  ask  pardon  for  intrudin’,  not  bein  used  to  an 
office,  and  knowin’  my  place,  I ’ope.  But  it ’s  gettin’  on  for  a quarter  past 
eleven,  Mr.  Robert,  and  twelve ’s  the  latest  they  will  do  it,  and  the  breakfast 
all  set  out  beautiful— and  some  parties  is  a gettin’  impatient,  which  it  s no 
more  than  natural,  bless  her,  and  Sam,  that  rampagious But  what- 

ever’s  the  matter  ? You  look  struck  all  of  a heap  like! 

Bri.  Oh,  nothing,  nothing.  It ’s  natural,  you  know,  a man  should  look 
queer  on  his  wedding  morning.  There,  go  and  tell  May  I 11  be  wit  er 
directly. 

Enter  Sam,  l.  ist  E. 


Sam.  Come  along.  Bob,  we  ’re  all  tired  of  waiting,  especially  this  child. 
(Sings  nigger  song.)  Come  along  I 

Mrs.  W.  {admiringly?)  Oh,  that  boy ! If  it  ain’t  enough  to  make  any 
grandmother’s  ’eart  proud. 

Bri.  Go— go— I ’ll  follow— I ’ve  some  business  matters  to  attend  to. 

Sam.  A nice  state  for  business  you  ’re  in— I don’t  think  - There, 
granny.  (Looks  at  him?)  This  is  what  comes  of  getting  married  . If  it 
ain’t  an  awful  warning  to  a young  fellow  like  me  I 

Mrs.  IV.  Drat  your  imperence. 

Sam.  But  the  party ’s  waiting  down  stairs,  and  we  ’re  wanted  to  keep 


4^  ticket-of-leave  man.  [Act  i 

’em  in  spirits,  so  come  along,  granny.  (Polkas  out  with  Mrs.  Willougj 
BY,  L.  1st  E.) 

Bri.  Known  ! Threatened  ! Spared  by  Hawkshaw,  only  to  be  d' 
nounced  by  this  man. 

Enter  Moss,  L.  C. 

Moss.  Mr.  Gibson,  if  you  please ! 

Bri.  He  s in  his  office,  sir— that  way.  {Points  to  open  door,  R.) 
Moss.  I remember  the  young-  man  now.  A convict  get  himself  into 
respectable  situation.  It  is  a duty  one  owes  to  society  to  put  his  employe 
on  his  guard.  ^ j 

Bri.  Yes— he ’s  gone— 1 can  draw  my  breath  again — I was  wrong  to  k 
him  go.  But  to  have  the  cup  at  one’s  lip,  and  see  it  struck  away— 
could  n’t— 1 could  n’t — even  the  detective  had  mercy.  When  we  ’re  marriec 
I ’ll  tell  Mr.  Gibson  all. 

Re-enter  Moss  and  Mr.  Gibson  from  his  office. 

M^oss.  You  can  (question  him,  sir,  if  you  don  t believe  me  j anyway,  I ’v 
done  my  duty,  and  that ’s  what  I look  to.  {Exit  Moss,  L.  c 

Bri.  (L.)  Here ’s  the  money  for  the  cheque,  sir.  (Gibson  takes  money. ^ 
Bri  ERL Y is  going,  l.  ist  E.)  \ 

Mr.  G.  (r.)  Robert'  , ^ 

Bri.  (l.)  Sir.  ' 

Mr.  G.  Where  are  you  going 
Bri.  To  dress  for  church,  sir. 

Mr.  G.  Stay  here. 

Bri.  Sir ! ^ ; 

Mr.  G.  You  have  deceived  me.  [ 

Bri.  Mr.  Gibson i 

Mr.  G.  I know  all — your  crime — your  conviction — your  punishment!  \ 
Bri.  Mercy ! mercy  ! 

Mr.  G.  Unhappy  young  man.  ; 

Brt.  Ah  ! unhappy  you  may  well  call  me.  I was  sentensed,  sir,  but  .1 
was  not  guilty.  It’s  true,  sir,  but  I don’t  expect  you  to  believe  it— I’ve 
worked  out  my  sentence,  sir— they  had  n’t  a mark  against  me  at  Portland— 
you  may  ask  ’em — here ’s  my  ticket-of-leave,  sir.  You  own  I’ve  been 
steady  and  industrious  since  I came  here.  By  heaven’s  help  I mean  to  be 
so  still — indeed  I do. 

Mr.  G.  I dare  say,  but  I must  think  of  my  own  credit  and  character. 
If  it  was  buzzed  about  that  I kept  a ticket-of-leave  man  in  my  employ- 
ment— 

Enter  Green  Jones,  c.,  down  r..  May,  Emily,  Mrs.  Willoughby  and 

Sam,  l.  1st  e. 

Mrs.  W.  (l.)  Which,  axin’  your  pardon,  Mr.  Gibson,  we’re  all  ready, 
and  the  cab  is  a waitin’ 


;!ENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


47 


Prz, 

May, 

Bri, 

AIL 

Em, 

Mrs, 


Heaven  help  thee,  my  poor  lass. 

You  are  pale — tremble — are  ill — oh,  speak!  what  is  it? 

Bear  up.  May.  But  our  marriage — cannot — be — yet — awhile. 
The  wedding  put  off ! (May  stands  aghastt) 

No  bonnets ! ] 

W,  And  no  breakfasts.  ! , 

By  Jove!  \ {Together:) 

Sam,  Here ’s  a go ! J 

May,  Am  I dreaming!  Robert,  what  does  this  mean? 

Brz,  It ’s  hard  to  bear.  Keep  up  your  heart — I ’m  discharged.  He 
ows  all. 

May,  {to  Gibson.)  Oh,  sir,  you  couldn’t  have  the  heart — say  it  is  not 


'azn,  (l.)  And  the  parson  getting  cold. 

May,  (l.  c.)  Robert,  why  are  you  not  dressed? 


What  is  the  matter? 


le. 

Mr,  G.  Sorry  for  it.  You  have  both  deceived  me ; you  must  both  leave 
b place. 

Brz,  You  hear;  come.  May. 

May,  I ’ll  go,  sir.  It  was  I deceived  you,  not  he.  Only  give  him  a 
ance {Music — piano,  till  endl) 

Bri,  Never  heed  her,  sir.  She’d  have  told  you  long  ago,  but  I hadn’t 
2 heart — my  poor  lass.  Let  her  bide  here,  sir — I ’ll  leave  the  country — 
1 ’list. 

May,  Hush,  hush,  Robert ! We  were  wrong  to  hide  the  truth — we  are 
rely  punished ; \i  you  've  courage  to  face  what ’s  before  us,  / have. 

Bri,  My  brave  wench  ! Thank  you  for  all  your  kindness,  sir.  Good- 
e,  friends.  Come,  May,  we  ’ll  go  together. 


ACT  IV. 

.’ENE  I. — Bridgewater  Arms ; a large  g aily^decor at ed  coffee  room  see 
out  with  tables  and  benches  ; a bar  crosses  the  corner  of  room,  up  L., 
with  gaily  painted  hogsheads  ranged  above  it ; beer  engine,  &^c.,  at 
the  head  of  bar,  L.  C. ; door  to  street  in  flat,  R. ; door  to  parlor,  R.  2d 
E. ; curtained  windows  in  flat ; a piano,  L. ; a trap  leading  to  cellar 
practicable,  up  stage,  C.,  near  the  end  of  the  bar ; table  and  three 
chairs  in  front,  R. ; table  and  benches  up,  L. ; table  and  benches  at 
back,  R. 

, (Moss,  with  bags  of  silver,  and  Dalton,  seated  at  table,  R. , 
Malt  BY  waiting  zipon  them,) 

Mai.  {at  back  of  table,  R.)  Pint  of  sherry.  {Putting  it  downl)  Very 
rious ! Yes,  Mr.  Moss,  it ’s  a pleasure  to  see  you,  sir,  at  the  Bridgewater 
*ms ; though  it  ain’t  the  Bellevue  Gardens  ! worse  luck ! 


48 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [ACT 

MosSy  (r.  of  table:)  Ah  ! ups  and  downs  are  the  lot  of  life,  Mr.  Mai 
Y ou  ’ll  let  me  know  when  Mr.  Tottie  comes  ? 

MaL  Ah,  the  sub-contractor  for  the  main  sewer  in  the  next  sti 
Such  a nuisance ! stops  all  traffic 

Moss.  But  sends  you  all  the  navvies.  It ’s  here  they’re  taken  on, 
paid,  you  know. 

MaL  Connection  not  aristocratic,  but  beery ; we  do  four  butts  a v 
at  the  bar,  to  say  nothing*  of  the  concert  room  up  stairs. 

DaL  (L.  of  tablcy  R.)  What,  the  navvies  like  music  to  their  malt, 
they? 

MaL  Oh,  yes,  sir!  I introduced  the  arts  from  the  West  End. 
roughs  adore  music,  especially  selections  from  the  Italian  Opera;  and  a: 
sentiment  and  sensation,  if  you  could  hear  Miss  St.  Evremond  touch  tl 
up  with  the  ‘‘Maniac’s  Tear,”  the  new  sensation  ballad,  by  a gifted  c 
poser,  attached  to  the  establishment,  and  sold  at  the  bar,  price  one  £ 
ling ! why,  we ’ve  disposed  of  three  dozen  “ Maniac’s  Tears  ” on  a ' 
night — astonishing  how  it  goes  down  ! 

DaL  With  the  beer? 

Enter  Mrs.  Green  Jones,  door  in  flaty  and  comes  down  L. ; she  wed 
handsome  evening  dress  under  her  shawl. 

MaL  (c.,  cofning forward  to  her.)  Here  comes  Mrs.  Jones ; gentler? 
this  is  the  great  and  gifted  creature  I was  alluding  to. 

Em.  (l.)  Go  along  with  your  nonsense ! 

MaL  Miss  St.  Evremond,  the  great  sensation  balladist,  formerly  of 
Nobility’s  Concerts,  and  her  Majesty’s  Theatre — {aside)  in  the  ballet.  " 

Moss.  Proud  to  make  the  acquaintance  of  so  gifted  an  artiste.  ■ 

Em.  You’re  very  obliging,  I’m  sure.  {Taking  off  her  bonnet  i 
shawl,  and  smoothing  her  hair;  to  Maltby.)  How’s  the  room  to-nig 

MaL  Tidy,  but  nothing  to  what  it  will  be.  It ’s  the  navvies’  pay  ni‘ 
you  know.  ^ 

Em.  Navvies ! oh,  lord ! {sighs)  to  think  of  Emily  St.  Evremond  wi 
ing  her  sweetness  upon  an  audience  of  navigators ! 

DaL  They  are  not  aristocratic,  but  they  are  appreciative. 

Em.  Yes!  poor  creatures ! they  do  know  a good  thing  when  they  h 
it.  (Ti?  Maltby.) 

DaL  If  Miss  St.  Evremond  will  oblige  us  with  a ballad 

MaL  “The  Maniac’s  Tear.” 

Em.  If  these  gentlemen  would  n’t  mind. 

DaL  On  the  contrary — we  like  music ; don’t  we.  Moss? 

Moss.  I doat  upon  it ; especially  Handel ! 

Em.  But  where ’s  the  accompanist  ? 

MaL  I regret  to  say  the  signor  is  disgracefully  screwed ! 

Em.  Oh,  never  mind,  Jones  can  accompany  me ! {Going  upi)  Cfi 
in,  Green  Jones;  you’re  wanted!  (Maltby  opens pianoi) 


49 


GENE  1.]  TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 

"nter  Green  Jones  with  basket  of  trotter Sy  door  in  fiat ; they  both  come 

doWHy  L. 

Green.  In  the  trotter  line,  or  the  tuneful? 

Em.  To  accompany  me  on  the  piano ! {She  arranges  her  hatri) 

Green.  Till  you  ’re  ready,  these  gentlemen  would  n’t  like  to  try  a trotter, 
muld  they?  A penny  a set,  and  of  this  morning’s  boiling — if  I might 
2mpt  you  ? They  ’re  delicious  with  a soupgon  of  pepper. 

Mai.  No,  no,  Mr.  Jones,  these  are  xiQ\,your  style  of  customers. 

Green.  Excuse  me,  Mr.  Maltby,  I ’m  aware  trotters  are  not  known  in 
ood  society ; but  they  go  down  as  a relish,  even  with  people  accustomed 
0 entrees ! I liked  ’em  as  a swell  before  I was  reduced  to  them  as  a sales- 
nan. 

Mai.  (c.,  to  Mrs.  Green  Jones.)  Perhaps  you ’d  give  us  the  ‘‘  Maniac’s 
fear”  ? 

Em.  (l.  C.)  I can’t  do  it  without  letting  down  my  back  hair! 

Dal.  (r.  C.)  Oh,  down  with  the  back  hair,  by  all  means ! 

Em.  You’re  very  kind.  Jones  ! Where’s  the  glass? 

ones  procures  a hand-glass  from  basket ; Emily  arranges  her  hair 

by  glass. 

Greeny  (L.,  seating  himself  at  the  pianol)  One  word  of  preface,  gentle- 
nen ! It ’s  a sensation  ballad ! scene — Criminal  Ward,  Bedlam  ! Miss  St. 
Lvremond  is  an  interesting  lunatic — with  lucid  intervals.  She  has  mur- 
lered  her  husband — {finds  basket  in  his  way)  Emmy ! if  you ’d  just  shift 
hose  trotters — and  her  three  children,  and  is  supposed  to  be  remonstrating 
vith  one  of  the  lunacy  commissioners  on  the  cruelty  of  her  confinement ! 

{Music — Emily  sings  a sensation  ballady  ^^The  Maniac's  Tearfi 
accompanied  by  her  husband ; all  applaudl) 

Mai.  {going  offl)  Now — look  sharp.  Miss  St.  Evremond.  The  Wis- 
:onsin  Warblers  are  at  their  last  chorus.  {Exit  Maltby,  l.  u.  e. 

Em.  {to  her  husband?)  Bye-bye,  dear,  till  after  the  concert;  you  know 
[ can’t  be  seen  speaking  to  you  while  you  carry  that  basket. 

Green.  True — in  the  humble  trotter-man  who  would  suspect  the  hus- 
Dand  of  the  brilliant  St.  Evremond  ! There ’s  something  romantic  in  it — I 
tiover  round  the  room — I hear  you  universally  admired — visibly  applaud- 
ed— audibly  adored.  Oh,  agony  ! 

Em.  Now,  Jones- — you  are  going  to  be  jealous  again ! I do  believe 
jealousy ’s  at  the  bottom  of  those  trotters ! 

{Exit  Mrs.  and  Mr.  Green  Jones,  l.  ist  e. 

Moss.  Now ’s  our  time — while  the  fools  upstairs  are  having  their  ears 
tickled.  You’ve  the  tools  ready  for  jumping  that  crib  in  St,  Nicholas 
lane? 


50  TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [ACT 

DaL  Yes,  but  tools  ain’t  enough — I must  have  a clear  stage,  and  a pj 
who  knows  the  premises. 

Moss,  I Ve  managed  that — nobody  sleeps  in  the  place  but  the  old  house 
keeper  and  her  precious  grandson. 

Dal,  He ’s  as  sharp  as  a terrier  dog — and  can  bite,  too — a young  vai 

mint.  If  I come  across  him ( Threateningly^) 

Moss,  No  occasion  for  that — you  're  so  violent.  I ’ve  made  the  youn 
man’s  acquaintance.  I ’ve  asked  him  to  meet  me  here  to-night  for  a quic 
little  game — his  revenge,  I called  it.  I ’ll  dose  the  lad  till  he ’s  past  leavin 
the  place.  You  drop  a hint  to  the  old  lady — she’ll  come  to  take  care  c 
him.  The  coast  will  be  clear  yonder. 

Dal,  And  the  five  thousand  shiners  will  be  nailed  in  the  turning  of 
jemmy.  If  we  had  that  young  Brierly  in  the  job — he  knows  the  way  abor 
the  place  blindfold.  But  he ’s  on  the  square,  he  is — bent  on  earning  a 
honest  livelihood. 

Moss,  But  I ’ve  blown  him  wherever  he ’s  got  work.  He  must  dance  t 
our  tune  at  last ! 

Dal,  Ah ! \iyou  "ve  got  him  in  hand ! Work  him  into  the  job,  and  I 
jump  the  crib  to-night.  ; 

Moss.  He ’s  applied  to  be  taken  on  at  the  contract  works  near  hen 

This  is  the  pay  night — Tottie,  the  sub-contractor,  is  a friend  of  mine -t 

Dal.  He ’s  lucky ! J 

Moss.  Yes.  I find  him  the  cash  at  twenty  per  cent,  till  his  certificate 
are  allowed  by  the  engineer.  ’T  ain’t  heavy  interest,  but  there ’s  no  risk-; 
a word  from  me,  and  he ’d  discharge  every  navvie  in  his  gang.  But  I ’y 
only  to  breathe  jail-bird,  and  there ’s  no  need  of  a discharge.  The  md 
themselves  would  work  the  lad  off  the  job.  They  are  sad  roughs,  bif 
they ’ve  a horror  of  jail-birds.  j 

Dal.  Ah ! nobody  likes  the  Portland  mark,  I know  that — I ’ve  tried  til 
honest  dodge,  too.  ■ 

Moss,  It  don’t  answer.  ; 

Dal,  It  didn’t  with  me.  I had  a friend  like  you,  always  after  m( 
Whatever  I tried,  I was  blown  as  a convict,  and  hunted  out  from  honej 
men. 

Moss,  And  then  you  met  me — and  I was  good  to  you — wasn’t  1 1 
Dal,  Yes.  You  were  very  kind.  ^ 

Moss.  Always  allowed  you  handsome  for  the  swag  you  brought,  and  pi3 
you  up  to  no  end  of  good  things ; and  I ’ll  stick  by  you,  my  dear — I nev<! 
drop  a friend. 

Dal,  No,  till  the  hangman  takes  your  place  at  his  side.  (Presses  h% 
elb(rws  to  his  side  in  the  attitude  of  a man  pinioned  1)  < 

Moss,  Don’t  be  disagreeable  my  dear — you  give  me  a cold  shivd 
Hush ! here  come  the  navvies. 

I 


?CENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


51 


{Enter  the  Navigators,  noisily,  through  door  in  flat,  R.  C.  They 
seat  themselves  at  their  tables,  R.  and  L.,  calling  so7ne  for  pots  of 
beer  some  for  quarterns  of  gin.  The  Potman  and  Waiters 
bustle  about  with  Malt  BY  superintending  and  taking  money, 
Brierly  follows.  Enter  Hawkshaw,  door  m flat,  R.  c.,  dis- 
guised as  a nawie.  He  appears  flustered  with  drink  ; goes  to  one 
I of  the  tables,  L.,  and  assuming  a country  dialect,  calls  swagger- 
tngly) 

' Hawk,  Gallon  ’o  beer ! maester. 

Mai,  A gallon  ? 

Hawk,  Aye,  and  another  when  that ’s  done.  I ’m  in  brass  to-night, 
ind  I stand  treat.  Here,  mates,  who  ’ll  drink  ? {Navvies  crowd,  with 
bud  accla^nation  to  his  table — beer  is  brought — Hawk,  to  Bri.,  who  is 
eated  L.  of  tablei)  Come,  won’t  thou  drink,  my  little  flannel-back  ? 

Bri.  No,  thank  you  ; I Ve  a poor  head  for  liquor,  and  I Ve  not  had  my 
upper  yet. 

Hawk,  Thou’st  sure  it ’s  not  pride. 

Bri,  Pride  } I ’ve  no  call  for  pride — I Ve  come  to  try  and  get  taken  on 
it  the  works. 

Hawk.  Well,  thou  look’st  like  a tough  'un.  There’s  cast-iron  Jack  was 
mashed  in  the  tunnel  this  morning.  There  ’ll  be  room  for  thee  if  thou 
.ans’t  swing  the  old  anchor. 

Bri.  The  old  anchor? 

Hawk,  Ha,  ha ! it ’s  easy  to  see  thou’st  no  banker.  Why  the  pick  to 
)e  sure — the  groundsman’s  bread-winner.  Halloa,  mates,  keep  a drop  of 
^og  for  Ginger.  {Goes  back  to  table  1) 

Navvies.  Aye,  aye ! 

Hawk.  Here ’s  the  old  anchor,  boys,  and  long  may  we  live  to  swing  it. 

All.  The  pick  forever.  Hip,  hip  hurrah  ! 

Mai.  {coming  down,  R.)  Mr  Tottie’s  in  the  parlor,  and  wishes  partic- 
ilarly  to  see  you,  Mr.  Moss. 

Moss.  I should  think  he  did — say  I ’m  coming.  [Exit  Maltby,  r. 

Dal.  {aside  to  Moss.)  You  look  after  the  Lancashire  lad — yonder  he 
its — and  I ’ll  drop  a hint  to  the  old  woman.  Stay,  we ’d  better  work  from 
he  old  church-yard  of  St.  Nicholas — there’s  a door  opens  into  it  from  the 
rib.  I ’ll  hide  the  tools  behind  one  of  the  tombstones. 

Moss,  Beautiful!  Sacred  to  the  memory  of  Jem  Dalton’s  Jack-in-the- 
»ox ! Ha,  ha,  ha  1 

[Exit  Moss  into  parlor,  R.,  Dalton  by  the  street  door,  r.,  in  fiar. 

Hawk,  Here,  landlord,  take  your  change  out  of  that.  {Flings  a sover- 
ign  on  table.)  Call  for  more  beer,  mates,  till  I come  back. 

[Exit  staggering  like  a drunken  man  after  Dalton, 

1st  Nav,  Thou  ’lit  come  back,  mate? 


^2  TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [ACT  IV 

Hawk,  Aye,  aye.  boys,  directly.  {At  door)  Contra(?tor ’s  in  V parloi 
wi’  the  week’s  pay. 

let  Nav.  Here ’s  thy  health  ! 

All,  {sing)  ‘Tor  he’s  a jolly  good  fellow,”  &c. 

Enter  Green  Jones,  l.  ist  e. 

Green.  Emily  is  bringing  down  the  house  in  the  Maniac.  I can't  stanc 
it;  my  feelings  as  a husband  are  trampled  on!  But  she’s  a trump,  too— 
and  what  a talent ! By  heaven,  if  ever  I get  my  head  above  water  again 
I won’t  fool  away  my  money  as  I have  done ; no,  I ’ll  take  a theatre  at  the 
West  End,  and  bring  out  my  wife  in  ever3d:hing.  It  will  be  an  immense 
success ; meanwhile  ’till  the  pounds  present  themselves,  let  me  look  afte: 
the  pence.  Trotters,  gents,  trotters — penny  the  set,  and  this  morning’i 
boiling.  {He  goes  up  among  tables) 

1st  Nav.  Stop  ’till  we  get  brass,  we  ’ll  clear  out  thy  basket. 

[Exit  Navvies y R.  door,  followed  by  Green  Jone^ 
Bri.  Yes,  the  old  anchor  is  my  last  chance— I ’ve  tried  every  road  to  ar 
honest  livelihood,  and,  one  after  another,  they  are  barred  in  my  fac^ 
Everywhere  that  dreadful  word,  jail-bird,  seems  to  be  breathed  in  the  ai| 
about  me— sometimes  in  a letter,  sometimes  m a hint,  sometimes  a copy  d 
the  newspaper  with  my  trial,  and  then  it ’s  the  same  story — sorry  to  pai; 
with  me — no  complaint  to  make — but  can  t keep  a ticket-of-Eave-man 
Who  can  it  be  that  hunts  me  down  this  way  } Hawkshaw  spared  me.  I ’ vi 
done  no  man  a wrong — poor  fellows  like  me  should  have  no  enemies, 
wouldn’t  care  for  myself,  but  my  poor  lass,  my  brave,  true-hearted  May 
I ’m  dragging  her  down  along  with  me.  Ah  ! here  she  is.  < 

Enter  May  poorly  dressed,  {she  has  a can,  and  sojne  food  zn  a bundle*^ 
door  in  flat,  and  comes  down,  L.  | 

May,  {cheerfully)  Well,  Robert,  dear,  I said  I shouldn’t  be  long;  ^ 

have  brought  your  supper.  y 

Bri.  (L.)  Thank  thee,  darling— I ’m  not  hungry— thou  ’st  been  o« 
after  work  all  the  day— eat  thyself— thou  need’st  strength  most. 

May,  (on  his  L.)  Nay,  dear,  what  will  become  of  me  if  you  lose  heart , 
But,  if  you  ’ll  be  a good  boy,  and  take  your  tea  (gets  around  front  to  R. 
ofins  tin  and  takes  bread  from  bundle)  I ’ll  tell  you  a piece  of  good  new: 
— for  you — for  both  of  us. 

Bri.  That  will  be  something  new. 

May.  I ’ve  got  a promise  of  work  from  the  Sailors'  Ready  Made  Cloth 
ing  Warehouse  near  here.  It  won’t  be  much,  but  it  will  keep  the  wol 
from  the  door  ’till  you  get  another  situation.  Hhve  you  tried  if  the  con* 
tractor  here  will  take  you  ? 

Bri.  Not  yet.  He ’s  in  yonder  paying  the  men.  He  ’ll  send  for  me 
but  I scarcely  dare  to  ask  him.  Oh,  May,  lass,  I ’ve  held  on  hard  to  hop^ 
but  it  feels  as  it  was  slipping  out  of  my  hand  at  last.  ^ 


icENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


53 


' May.  Rooert,  dear  Robert,  grasp  it  hard ; so  long  as  we  do  what  is 
ight,  all  will  come  clear  at  last ; we  re  in  kind  hands,  dear — you  know  we 
re. 

Bri.  I begin  to  doubt  it,  lass — I do,  indeed. 

May.  No,  no  ; never  doubt  that,  or  my  heart  will  give  way,  too 

Br:.  And  though  that  has  had  courage  for  both  of  us.  Every  blow 
hat  has  fallen,  every  door  that  has  been  shut  between  me  and  an  honest 
.velihood,  every  time  that  clean  hands  have  been  drawn  away  from  mine, 
ind  respectable  faces  turned  aside  as  I came  near  them,  I Ve  come  to  thee 
or  comfort,  and  love,  and  hope,  and  I Ve  found  them  till  now. 
r May.  Oh,  yes  ! what ’s  the  good  of  a sunshine  wife  ? It ’s  hard  weather 
Ties  us  women  best,  dear ; you  men  ain’t  half  so  stout-hearted. 

Bri.  I don’t  mind  the  misery  so  much  for  myself,  ’tis  for  thee. 

! May.  I don’t  complain — do  1 1 

; Bri.  Never  ! But,  nevertheless,  I ’ve  brought  thee  to  sorrow,  and  want, 
nd  shame.  Till  I came  back  to  thee  thou  had’st  friends,  work  and  com- 
orts.  But  since  Mr.  Gibson  discharged  us  off,  the  blight  that  has  fol- 
lowed me  has  reached  thee,  too,  the  bravest,  honestest,  brightest  lass  that 
jver  doubled  a man’s  joys  and  halved  his  burdens.  Oh  ! it  s too  bad 
\rises)  it  kills  the  heart  out  of  me— it  makes  me  mad.  (Crosses  to  R.) 

[ May,  (following  hhn)  I tell  you,  ’twill  all  come  clear  at  last,  if  we  are 
bnly  true  to  ourselves — to  each  other.  I ’ve  work  promised,  and  perhaps 
l^ou  may  be  taken  on  here.  I spy  bright  days  before  us,  still, 
i Bri.  Bright  days!  I can’t  see  them  through  the  prison  cloud  that 
[Stands  like  a dark  wall  between  me  and  honest  labor.  May,  lass,  I some- 
limes  think  I had  better  let  it  all  go— run— ’list— make  a hole  in  the  water, 
inything  that  would  rid  thee  of  me ; thou  could  st  make  thy  way  alone. 

May.  Oh,  Robert,  that  is  cruel ! nothing  others  could  do  to  us  could 
liurt  me  like  those  words  from  you ; we  are  man  and  wife,  and  we  ’ll  take 
ife  as  man  and  wife  should,  hand  in  hand ; where  you  go,  I will  go ; where 
^ou  suffer,  I will  be  there  to  comfort;  and  when  better  times  come,  as 
:ome  they  will,  we  will  thank  God  for  them  together. 

Bri.  I ’ll  try  to  hope. 

May.  And  you  won’t  heed  the  black  thoughts  that  come  over  you  when 
/ou  ’re  alone  ? 

Bri.  I ’ll  do  my  best  to  fight  ’em  off. 

May.  That’s  a brave  dear;  I ’m  only  going  to  the  warehouse;  I shall 
be  back  soon.  Good-bye,  dearest.  Remember,  when  the  clouds  are  thick- 
est, the  sun  still  shines  behind  them.  ^Rxit,  door  tn  flat., 

Bri.  Bless  that  brave  bright  dear;  she  puts  strength  into  me,  in  spite 
of  the  devilish  doubts  that  have  got  their  claws  about  my  throat.  Yes,  I 
will  try  once  more.  (The  Navigators  come  noisily  out  oj  parlor ^ 
and  reseat  themselves  at  the  tables^  R.  and  L.) 


54 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  IV 


Enter  from  par  lory  R. 

M OSS,  {speaking  offi)  So,  all  paid  at  last  ? 

Re-enter  Dalton,  door  in  flat,  and  Hawkshaw  after  him. 

Dal,  {down  R.,  to  Moss.)  All  right,  the  lad ’s  coming.  I Ve  tipped  th( 
old  woman  in  the  office,  and  planted  the  tools.  {He  looks  at  table,  r.) 

Hawk,  {crosses  to  L.,  theft  tapping  Brierly  on  the  shoulder,  who  start, 
suddenly  1)  All  the  gang  ha’  gotten  their  brass;  Tottie’s  takin’  on  mei 
now,  my  flannel-back.  Thou  go  in,  and  put  on  a bold  face ; Tottie  like; 
chaps  as  speaks  up  to  him.  (Hawkshaw  returns  to  his  mates,) 

Bri,  If  this  chance  fail,  God  help  us  both.  '{Exit  into  parlor,  R.  ist  E 

{Navvies  at  the  table  clamor  and  fight,  and  shout  over  their  drink 
Moss  glances  at  Bri  ERL  Y as  he  passes,) 

Moss,  There  he  goes ! {Navvies  clamor  1) 

Dal,  It  would  be  a pity  to  let  a ticket-of-leave  man  in  among  all  thosi 
nice,  sober,  well-behaved  young  men.  {Clamor,) 

Moss,  I must  blow  him  again ; he  must  be  near  the  end  of  his  tether 
now.  {Enter  Sam  Willoughby,  door  in  fiat,  and  comes  down,  c.)  Heb 
comes  our  young  friend.  {Coaxingly  to  Sam  Willoughby.)  Ah, 
dear — so  you’ve  come  out  for  a little  hanky-panky  with  old  Moss.  Sij 
down.  My  friend,  Mr.  Walker.  What ’ll  you  have 

Sam.  I don’t  care — I ’m  game  for  anything  from  sherry  to  rum-shrub 
Suppose  we  begin  with  a brandy  and  soda,  to  cool  the  coppers  ? 

Dal,  {calls,)  Brandy  and  soda,  Maltby. 

Sam,  I had  an  awful  go  in  of  it  last  night  at  the  balls,  and  droppec 
into  a lot  of  ’em  like  a three-year-old  ! {Imitates  action  of  billiard pla)^ 
with  his  walking  cane  for  a cuel)  | 

M OSS,  Billiards,  too ! Lord ! what  a clever  young  chap  you  are ! ' 

(Maltby  brings  soda  water  and  brandy  1)  ■ 

Sam,  {sits  at  back  of  tablel)  Yes,  I know  a thing  or  two.  ( Takes  glass! 
I wasn ’t  born  blind,  like  a terrier  pup,  I rayther  think — but  you  promisee 
me  my  revenge,  you  old  screw.  {Drinks?)  That ’s  the  tipple  to  stead] 
a chap’s  hand.  Now  fork  out  the  pictures,  old  boy. 

Moss,  {shuffling  cards,  R.)  Oh,  what  a boy  you  are ! What  shall  it  be 
this  time  } 

Sam,  A round  or  two  of  brag  to  begin  with,  and  a few  deals  of  blinc 
hookums  for  a wind  up.  {As  he  deals,  enter  Brierly  from  inner  roofn,  R.; 
Bri,  Heaven  be  thanked,  another  chance  yet ! 

Hawk,  {as  Brierly  passes,)  Well,  my  little  flannel-back,  has  he  taker 
you  on? 

Bri,  Yes,  I ’m  to  come  to  work  to-morrow  morning.  I ’m  in  Ginger's 
gang.  ' • 

Hawk,  I ’m  Ginger.  Come,  let ’s  wet  thy  footing. 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


55 


:ene 


Bri.  My  last  shilling ! (Throws  it  down:)  It ’s  all  I have,  but  you 're 

Hawk.  Nay,  it  shan’t  be  said  Ginger  Bill  ever  cleared  a chap  out, 
;ithet.  I 'll  pay  for  thy  footing,  and  thou  ’It  stand  beer  thy  first  pay-night, 
ere  measter,  a gallon  to  wet  t’  new  chap’s  name.  Bob,  we’ll  christen 
ee, ’’cause  thou  hadst  but  a shillin’-Ha,  ha,  ha ! (Navvies  laugh  ; they 
’.I  drink.)  Here ’s  to  Bob’s  health ! 

Bri  (L.  C.,  recognizing  Sam.)  Sam  'Willoughby  in  this  place,  and  over 
,e  dwil’s  books,  too.  Oh!  I ’m  sorry  to  see  this— sorry— sorry.  Poor 
d woman ! If  she  knew ! 

Sam,  (calling?^  Best  card ! {Showing  a card,)  First  stake ! 

DaL  Stop  a minute — ace  of  diamonds  1 

Sam,  First  stake  to  you.  Hang  it ! never  mind,  {deals)  one  can  t lose 
luch  at  this  game— I go  a tizzy.  {Puts  a stake  on  cards.) 

Moss,  A shilling. 

Sain.  Five. 

Dal.  I stand. 

Moss.  Ten. 

Sam.  A sovereign ! thirty-one ! Third  stake  and  the  brag.  {Shows  his 
ardsl)  Pair  royal — pair— ace  of  spades.  Fork  over  the  shiners. 

^ Moss.  Oh,  dear!  oh,  dear!  I ’m  ruined — ruined.  {Pays  sovereign^) 

I Dal,  {calls.)  Two  colds  without. 

I Sam,  Now,  for  my  deal.  {Me  deals  three  cards  to  each ; Maltby 
Wings  brandy  1) 

\ Moss,  Best  card  ? First  stake.  I stand. 

^ Sam,  I brag.  Hang  peddling  with  tizzies— half  a crown. 

Dal,  Five.  (Moss  looks  at  Sam’s  hand,  and  signals  to  Dal.) 

Sam,  Ten. 

Dal.  A sovereign. 

Moss,  Oh ! oh ! dear,  what  a boy  it  is ! How  much  have  you  got  in 
your  pocket } 

Sam,  Lots!  I’m  paid  quarterly  now.  Had  my  quarter  to-day! 
Another  cold  without.  (Calhi)  Let ’s  see-I  ’ll  hold  on.  (Draws  card) 
Thirty-four — overdrawn — confound  it!  Now  let’s  see  your  hand.  (To 
Dalton.) 

Dal.  Three  pairs— fives,  trays,  deuces,  and  the  knave  of  clubs. 

Sam.  Hang  it  all ! How  is  a man  to  stand  against  such  cards  ? 

Bri.  How  is  a man  to  stand  against  such  play  ? He  was  looking  over 
your  cards,  and  see — (seizes  a card  from  Moss’s  lap)  the  ace  of  dia- 
monds ! Sam,  if  you  won ’t  believe  me,  believe  your  own  eyes ; you  ’re 
being  cheated,  robbed.  You  old  villain— you  ought  to  be  ashamed  of 

yourself?  . 

Moss.  Oh,  dear ! oh,  dear ! to  say  such  things  to  a man  at  my  time  ot  lite. 

Dal.  We ’re  not  to  be  bullied. 


5^ 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [AcT  I 

Sam,  {threateningly^  You  give  me  back  my  moriey ! (Maltby  com. 
down,) 

Moss.  I shan’t!  Here,  Mr.  Maltby. 

Mai.  Come,  be  off.  I can’t  have  any  disturbance  here.  Mr.  Moss  is 
most  respectable  man,  and  his  friends  are  as  respectable  as  he  is,  and  c 
for  you.  if  you  won’t  leave  the  room  quietly,  you  must  be  made  to. ' 

Sanu  Who’ll  make  me.>  Come  on,  {squaring)  both  of  you!  Stan 
up  to  em,  Bob,  I m not  afraid ! {Navigators  gather  round.) 

Enter  Mrs.  Willoughby,  door  in  flat. 

Mrs.  JV.  (r.  c.)  It ’s  his  voice — which  well  I know  it.  Oh ! Sam,  San 
I Ve  found  you  at  last ! 

Sam.  Well,  suppose  you  have  — what  then  ? 

Mrs.  TV.  What  then!  Oh ! dear-oh ! dear.  And  I’ve  run  myself  int, 
that  state  of  trimmle  and  perspiration,  and  if  it  had  n’t  been  for  the  gen 
tleman  I might  have  been  east  and  west,  and  high  and  low,  but  it ’s  at  thi 
“ Bridgewater  Arms  ” you  ’ll  find  him,  he  says — and  here  I have  found  you 
sure  enough— and  you  come  home  with  me  this  minute.  : 

Moss,  (r.)  Ah  ! you ’d  better  go  home  with  the  old  lady ! ! 

Dal.  (r.  c.)  And  if  you  take  my  advice,  you  ’ll  send  him  to'  bed  with- 
out  his  supper.  } 

Sam,  (c.,  Mrs.  Willoughby  pushing  him  away.)  I ain’t  going 
Now,  you  give  me  my  money— I ’m  not  going  to  stand  any  nonsense. 

Mrs.  W.  (r.  c.)  And  this  is  what  he  calls  attending  elocution  class  ol 
a night,  and  improvin’  of  his  mind— and  me  a toilin’  and  a moilin’  for  him— 
which  I ’m  his  own  grandmother,  gentlemen,  and  him  the  only  one  of 
three.  {Still  holding  himl)  ( 

Sam.  It’s  no  use,  granny.  I’m  not  a child  to  be  tied  to  your  aproii 
strings— you  ve  no  right  to  be  naggin’  and  aggravatin’,  and  coming  after  S 
chap,  to  make  him  look  small  this  way.  I don’t  mind— I shan’t  stir! 
There ! {He  flings  his  cap  on  the  table,  sits  on  it,  swinging  his  legs.)  ' 
Mrs.  W.  Oh ! dear  oh ! dear — he  ’ll  break  my  heart,  he  will. 

Brz.  (c.)  Sam,  my  lad,  listen  to  me,  if  you  won’t  hearken  to  her. 
.{Crosses:)  A bad  beginning  makes  a bad  end,  and  you  ’re  beginning 
badly ; the  road  you  ’re  on  leads  downwards,  and  once  in  the  slough  at  the 
bottom  o ’t— oh ! trust  one  who  knows  it— there ’s  no  working  clear  again. 
You  may  hold  out  your  hand— you  may  cry  for  help— you  may  struggle 
hard— but  the  quicksands  are  under  your  foot— and  you  sink  down, 
down,  till  they  close  over  your  head. 

Hawk,  {seated,  l.)  Hear  the  little  flannel-back.  He  talks  like  a mis- 
sionary, he  do.  {All  laugh.) 

Brt.  Go  home,  my  lad— go  home  with  her— be  a son  to  her— love  her : 
as  she  has  loved  thee  make  her  old  days  happy — be  sober,  be  steady,  and 
when  you  re  a grown  man,  and  her  chair  s empty  at  t’  chimney-corner, , 


Scene  i.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


sr 

;Ou  ’ll  mayhap  remember  this  day,  and  be  thankful  you  took  the  advice  of 
oor,  hunted-down,  broken-hearted  Bob  Brierly. 

Sam,  {who  has  betrayed  signs  of  feeling  while  he  has  been  speakingi) 
don’t  know' — I feel  so  queer — and — don’t  look  at  me.  {To  Mrs.  WiL- 
.OUGBY ; gets  off  table,  crosses  to  her.)  I ’ve  been  a regular  bad  ’un, 
ranny — I ’m  very  sorry — I ’ll  put  on  the  curb — I ’ll  pull  up — that  is,  I ’ll 

ry- 

Mrs.  W.  {risesi)  Oh  ! bless  him  for  those  words ! Bless  you ! my  own 
ear  boy.  {Crosses  to  Brierly.)  And  you,  too,  Mr.  Brierly — which,  if  the 
ddow’s  blessing  is  worth  while,  it ’s  yours,  and  many  of  them.  Oh ! dear — 
'h!  dear. 

{Cries;  gets  out  her  handkerchief,  a^td  in  doing  so  drops  her  purse 
and  keys;  Moss  picks  up  the  purse;  Mrs.  WILLOUGHBY  catches 
his  eye  as  he  does  so;  Dalton  unobserved  by  all  picks  up  the  key  si) 

: Bri.  {passes  back  to  L.)  Nay,  don’t  thank  me.  It’s  late  now.  Go 
ome — Sam,  give  her  your  arm. 

Moss.  Here ’s  your  purse,  old  lady.  {Making  a final  attempt  on  Sam.) 
Vhat,  you  won’t  stay  and  make  a night  of  it? 

, Mrs.  W.  I ’ll  trouble  you  not  to  speak  to  my  grandson.  If  ever  an  old 
lan  was  ashamed  of  his  grey  hairs,  iC'^you  ought  to  be.  Come,  Sam. 
Moss,  {aside.)  Baulked. 

, Dal.  No — I did  n’t  give  her  back  her  keys. 

Sam,  {turning  to  Moss.)  If  I wasn’t  a going  to  turn  over  a new  leaf — 
h,  wouldn’t  I like  to  pitch  into  you ! 

\Exit  Sam  and  Mrs.  Willoughby. 
Hawk,  {pretending  to  be  very  drunki)  And  so  should  I — an  old  var- 
lint — and  so  would  all  of  us ; you  ’re  bad  enough  for  a tommy  shop- 
eeper. 

Navvies.  Aye,  that  he  is — ought  to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

Moss,  {crosses  to  C.)  And  who  accuses  me  ? A nice  chap,  this,  to  take 
way  honest  folk’s  characters ! 

Hawk.  Stow  that!  He’s  one  of  us  now — a regular  blue-stocking, 
ottie’s  taken  him  on ! He ’s  paid  his  footing — eh,  mates  ? 

All.  Aye — aye. 

Hawk.  Here  *s  Bob’s  health,  mates. 

All.  Aye — aye. 

Moss.  Stop ; {goes  up  C.  towards  L.  table)  before  you  drink  that  health, 
est  know  the  man  you  ’re  drinking  to.  You  ’re  a rough  lot,  I know,  but 
ou  ’re  honest  men. 

Bri.  Oh,  man,  if  you  *ve  a heart {Risesi) 

I Moss.  I owe  you  one — I always  pay  my  debts.  {ToNawiesi)  You’re 
S ot  felons,  nor  company  for  felons — for  jail-birds. 

\aIL  Jail-birds! 


58 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  IV. 


Moss,  Aye — jail-birds.  Ask  him  how  long  it  is  since  he  served  his  four 
years  at  Portland.  (Hawkshaw^^?^.^  upy  crosses,  and  sits  quietly  at  head 
of  table,  L.)  Look !— he  turns  pale — his  lip  falls ; he  can’t  deny  it ! 

(Brierly  turns  away,) 

Hawk,  Who  knows,  lads — perhaps  he ’s  repented. 

All,  No — no.  {Grumbling?^  No  jail-bird — convict — no  ticket-of- 

leaver.  {They  turn  away  from  Brierly.) 

Bri,  Aye,  mates — it’s  true  I was  convicted,  but  I wasn’t  guilty.  I 
served  my  time.  I came  out  an  altered  man.  I tned  hard  to  earn  an 

honest  livelihood ( They  all  turn  away.)  Don’t  all  turn  away  from 

me ! Give  me  a chance — only  a chance. 

All,  No — no. 

Bri,  Nay,  then,  my  last  hope  is  gone--I  can  fight  no  longer ! ( Thrown 

his  head  on  his  hands  in  despairl) 

{The  Navigators  retire  up,  Hawkshaw  pretending  to  be  verj 
drunk,  appears  to  sleep  with  head  on  table.  The  Navigators 
drop  off,  and  exit,  D.  F.,  one  by  one.) 

Moss,  {to  Dalton.)  Honesty’s  bowled  out  at  last!  It’s  our  gam^ 

now.  {Puts  his  hand  on  Brierly’S  shoulder.)  I say  my  friend 

Bri.  Eh ! {Looking  up)  You ! The  man  who  told  them  ! {Fiercely 
Moss,  (L.)  Yes— yes;  but  don’t  put  yourself  in  a passion. 

Bri.  Only  tell  me— is  it  you  who  have  followed  me  in  this  way  } wh( 
have  turned  all  against  me?  who  have  kept  me  from  earning  honest  bread i 
Moss.  Yes. 

Bri.  But  why,  man,  why?  I have  done  you  no  wrong.  ^ 

Moss.  Ask  him.  (Pointing  to  Dalton.)  He ’s  an  old  friend  of  yours 
Bri.  I don’t  know  him  yet— I ’ve  seen  that  face  before.  Yes,  it  is— Jefi 
Downy?  Thou  villain!  (He  seizes  himi)  I know  thee  now.  Tho; 
shalt  answer  to  me  for  all  this  misery.  ' 

Dal.  Easy  does  it,  Bob.  Hands  off,  and  let ’s  take  things  pleasantly. ' 
Bri.  Not  content  with  leading  me  into  play,  and  drink,  and  devilry- 
with  making  me  your  tool— with  sending  me  to  a prison,  it ’s  you  that  hav 
dogged  me — have  denounced  me  as  a convict. 

Dal.  Of  course— you  did  n’t  think  any  but  an  old  friend  would  hav 
taken  such  an  interest  ih  you. 

Bri,  Did  you  want  to  close  all  roads  against  me  but  that  which  lead 
to  the  dock  ? 

Dal,  Exactly. 

Bri,  {turns  to  Moss.) 

Moss,  Exactly. 

Dal,  You  see,  when  a man ’s  in  the  mud  himself  and  can  t get  out  of  i 
he  don’t  like  to  see  another  fight  clear.  Come,  honest  men  won  t hk% 
anything  to  do  wit\\  you — best  try  the  black  sheep — we  ain’t  proud.  {A 


bENE  I.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


59 


t R.)  We  Ve  a job  in  hand  will  be  the  making  of  all  three,  {Fills  his 
lassl)  Here,  drink,  and  put  some  heart  into  you.  (Brierly  drinksl) 
hat’s  your  sort — a lad  of  spirit— I said  there  was  real  grit  in  him — didn't 
Mossey  ? 

Moss.  You  always  gave  him  the  best  of  characters. 

Dal.  Is  it  a bargain  ? 

Bri.  Yes. 

Dal.  There ! Tip  us  the  cracksman’s  crook — so ! {Shakes  hands  with 
peculiar  gripl) 

Enter  May,  door  in  flat. 

May,  (C.)  Robert — not  here  } {Sees  him.)  Ah,  there  he  is.  * {Going 
pauses.)  Who  are  those  with  him  } 

Dal.  Now  a caulker  to  clinch  the  bargain.  {They  drinkl) 

May,  {in  painl)  Ah  ! Robert. 

Bri.  You  here — lass.^ 

Moss.  Oh,  these  petticoats ! 

Dal.  You  're  not  wanted  here,  young  woman. 

May.  He  is  my  husband,  sir.  He  is  not  strong — the  drink  will  do  him 
irm. 

Dal^  Ha,  ha,  ha ! Brandy  do  a man  harm  ! It 's  mother’s  milk — take 
lother  sip.  {Fills  BRlERLY’S^/a.y^  again.)  To  your  girl’s  good  health? 
May.  Robert,  dear — come  with  me. 

Bri.  Have  you  got  work  ? 

May.  No — not  yet. 

Bri.  No  more  have  I,  lass.  The  man  took  me  on — it  was  the  old  story. 
May.  Oh,  Robert — come! 

Bri.  I shall  stay  with  friends  here — thou  go  home,  and  don’t  sit  up  for 

le. 

May,  {imploring  1)  Robert! 

Bri.  I ’ve  my  reasons. 

Dal.  Come,  are  you  going. 

Bri.  (May  clings  to  himl)  Stand  off,  lass.  You  used  to  do  what  I bid 
DU — stand  off,  I say.  {He  shakes  himself  free  from  herl) 

May.  Oh,  Robert,  Robert ! {Staggers  back  to  table,  L,  and  sits.) 

Bri.  {aside.)  I must — or  they  ’ll  not  trust  me. 

May.  These  men?  to  what  have  they  tempted  him  in  his  despair? 
hey  shan’t  drive  me  away.  {Aside.)  I ’ll  watch.  {Exit  door  in  flat, 
fter  a mute  appeal  to  Brierly.  The  tables  have  before  this  been 
^ eared  of  all  the  Navvies  except  Hawkshaw,  lies  with  his  head  on 

he  table  as  if  dead  drunk  ; Moss  rises  and  goes  down,  R.) 

Mai.  {re-entering  fro7n  bar,  L,  U.  E. ; shaking  Hawk,  by  the  shoulder,} 
low,  my  man,  we  ’re  shutting  up  the  bar. 

Hawk.  Shut  up.  I ’m  shut  up.  Good  night.  {Lets  his  head falll} 


6o 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN. 


[Act  1 


Mai,  {coming  down.)  It ’s  no  use — he  won’t  go,  and  I ’m  wanted  in  t 
concert  room.  [Exit  Mal.,  l.  u.  e.,  calling,  “ Bar  closed 

Moss,  {to  Dalton,  suspiciously  pointing  to  Hawk.)  There ’s 
party 

Dal.  {rising.)  Eh.^  {Shaking  Hawk.)  Holloa,  wake  up.  (Haw 
gruntsl) 

Moss,  He ’s  in  a deplorable  state  of  intoxication. 

Dal,  Yes,  he ’s  got  his  cargo — no  danger  in  him — now  for  bu sines 
First  and  foremost  no  more  of  this.  {Pockets  bottle  ; to  Brierly.)  You  ’ 
heard  the  job  we  have  in  hand  ? 

Bri,  Yes,  but  you  have  not  told  me  where  it  is,  or  why  you  want  n 
help.  ‘ 

Dal,  It  *s  old  Gibson's  office.  The  five  thousand  you  know — ^you  kno 
where  it 's  kept. 

Bri,  Well. 

Dal,  And  you  '11  take  us  to  it } 

Bri,  Yes. 

Dal,  That 's  the  ticket.  Then  we  may  as  well  start.  • 

Bri,  Now ! 

Dal,  My  rule  is,  never  put  off  till  to-morrow  the  crib  I can  crack  to-dsj 
Besides,  you  might  change  your  mind.  ^ 

Moss,  One  has  heard  of  such  things. 

Bri,  But 

Dal,  You  crane 

Bri,  No.  ' 

Dal,  I '11  get  a cab.  {Going.)  , 

Moss.  And  I ’ll  get  another ; we 'd  best  go  single.  {Following  himlj\ 
Dal.  No,  it  would  n’t  be  polite  to  leave  Mr.  Brierly.  {Aside.)  I do^ 
half  trust  him — don’t  let  him  out  of  your  sight.  {Exit  door  in  plat.) 
Bri.  {aside.)  If  he ’d  only  leave  me  for  a moment.  ; 

Moss,  {crosses  to  front,  R. ; sitting?)  He ’s  carried  off  the  bottle,  and  tl 
bar ’s  shut  up,  or  we  might  have  a little  refreshment. 

Bri,  Perhaps,  if  you  went  to  the  landlord 

Moss,  No,  I ’d  rather  stay  with  you;  I like  your  company,  uncommon 
Enter  Maltby,*  l.  U.  e.,  with  a wine  basket  and  candle. 


Mal.  Here’s  Mr.  Tottie  standing  champagne  round  to  the  Wiscons 
Warblers,  and  the  bar  stock  all  out,  and  the  waiters  in  bed.  I must  i 
down  to  the  cellar  myself — very  humiliating!  {Goes  to  trap  near  ba^ 
What  with  the  light,  and  what  with  the  liquor — I say,  Mr.  Moss,  if  y( 
would  lend  me  a hand. 

Bri.  {aside.)  I might  give  him  the  information.  {To  Maltby.)  L 
me  help  you,  sir.  {Goes  to  trap.) 

Moss.  Then  I ’ll  go,  too.  (Maltby  opens  trapl) 

Bri,  The  stairs  are  steep ; two ’s  quite  enough. 


bENE  II.] 


TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN, 


6t 


Moss.  But  I 'm  so  fond  of  your  company. 

Mai.  If  you’ll  hold  the  light.  (Brierly  fakes  it,  and  Maltby  goes 

nvnl) 

Bri.  {aside).  A word’ll  do^it.  {Going  down;  Moss  takes  candle  from 
\m  and  gets  between  him  and  Malt  BY.) 

Moss.  Allow  me.  The  light  will  do  best  in  the  middle. 

(Moss  descends^) 

Mai.  {from  below).  Now,  then ! 

Bri.  {rapidly  closes  the  trap  afid  stands  upon  it.)  Now’s  the  time. 
'Seizes  the  pen  that  stands  on  the  bar,  and  writes,  reading  as  he  writes, 
(ickly)  To  Mr.  Gibson,  Peckham.  The  office  will  be  entered  to-night ; 
m in  it  to  save  the  property  and  secure  the  robbers — R.  Brierly.  But 
ho  ’ll  take  it. 

Hawk,  {who  has  got  up  and  read  the  letter  over  his  shoulder.)  I will. 
Bri.  You.^ 

Hawk,  {pulls  off  his  rough  cap,  wig,  and  whiskers,  and  speaks  in  his 
vn  voice?)  Hawkshaw,  the  detective.  {Gives  a pistol?)  Take  this— I ’ll 
2 on  the  look  out.  (Hawk,  lets  his  head  fall  as  Dal.  re-appears  beck- 
ting  at  the  door,  and  Moss  re-appears  from  the  trap— closed  in.) 

GENE  II. — A street  in  the  city  ; moonlight.  Enter  Mrs.  WILLOUGHBY 
a7id  Sam,  l.  She  searching  her  pocket. 

Sa7n.  You  ’re  sure  you  had  ’em  at  the  public. 

Mrs.  W.  Certain,  sure,  my  dear,  leastwise,  I let  myself  out  with  the 
ig  street  door,  so  I couldn’t  have  left  that  in  the  kitchen  window,  and  I ’d 
lie  little  ones  all  in  my  pocket,  which  I noticed  a hole  in  it  yesterday — and 
;.’s  the  best  Holland,  at  one  and  six,  and  only  worn  three  years,  and  they 
in’t  dropped  into  my  skirt,  and  they  ain  t hanging  to  my  crinoline. 

Sam.  Oh,  bother,  granny ; we  can’t  have  a regular  Custom  House  search 
a the  street ; let ’s  go  back  to  the  public ; perhaps  they ’ve  found  fern. 


'Inter  Mr.  and  MRS.  Green  JONES,  L.  She  with  shawl  and  bonnet ; he 
! with  his  basket  and  guitar . 

\ Green.  There  ’s^only  one  set  left ; perhaps  Providence  has  sent  a custo, 
ner.  Trotters,  mum?  (ThMRS.  W.) 

I Em.  (L.  C.,  stopping  him.)  In  my  company!  I’m  surprised  at  you! 
honceal  that  basket.  {Advancing  to  Mrs.  W.)  Why,  if  it  isn ’t  Mrs.  Wil- 
loughby and  Sam.  W^hy,  don’t  you  know  us  the  St.  Evremonds  ? 

\'Mrs.  W.  (r.  C.)  Lor  bless  me— and  so  it  is!  and  that  dear,  blessed 
itian  that  suffered  so  in  his  shins— which  perseverance  is  its  own  reward; 

md  may  I ask  what  Mr.  Jones 

1 Em.  Mr.  St.  Evremond. 

Mrs.  W.  Mr.  St.  Evremond — what ’s  he  a doin’  ? 

Em.  He ’s  in  business. 


62  TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [ACT  I 

Green,  Yes,  as  a {Producing  basket.) 

E7n,  {getting  between  MRS.  Willoughby  and  the  basket.)  As  a sc 
of  a sheep  farmer.  But  whatever  are  you  doing  here  at  this  time  of  nigh 

Mrs.  W.  Oh,  my  dear,  it ’s  a long  story — and  if  you  wears  pocke 
mend  ’em,  is  my  advice — which,  which,  whether  they  dropped,  or  wheth 
they  was  picked 

SafUy  {impatiently i)  We  can’t  get  in  ; granny’s  lost  her  keys. 

Ein.  And ^<9^  haven’t  a latch Well,  I wouldn’t  have  thought  it 
you.  Where  did  she  lose  them  ? 

Sain.  At  the  Bridgewater  Arms — and  the  house  is  shut  up  now. 

Em.  I ’m  engaged  there ; I don’t  mind  knocking  Maltby  up — I rath 
like  it.  Come  along,  Jones,  it’s  only  a step;  {aside  to  him)  conceal  th 
basket.  {Exeunt  Em.,  Sam,  and  Mrs.  Willoughby,  l.  ist 

Green.  Emily  thinks  trotters  low ; she  don’t  see  that  even  the  trotte 
trade  may  be  elevated  by  politeness  and  attention  to  seasoning. 

{Exit,  L.  1st 

Enter  Dalton,  Moss  and  Brierly,  r. 

Dal.  Come  along.  Bob.  All  serene.  {Aside.)  Where  could  he  h^ 
got  that  six-shooter  from  ? However,  I nailed  the  caps  in  the  cab.  Mo.j 
you  be  crow — two  whistles  if  the  coast  ain’t  clear — we  ’//  work  the  cri 
Lucky  I nailed  the  old  woman’s  keys.  They  ’ll  save  tools  and  time.  Gt 
me  the  glim.  (Moss  takes  out  small  lantern  and  gives  it  to  himl)  No; 
my  lad,  {to  Brierly)  take  care ; I ’m  a man  of  few  words.  The  pal  wl 
sticks  by  me,  I ’ll  stick  by  him,  till  death.  But  the  man  who  tries  to  dout 
on  me,  had  better  have  the  hangman  looking  after  him  than  Jem  Dalton. 

{Exeunt  Dalton,  Brierly  and  Mo^' 

Enter  Hawkshaw,  r.  j 

Hawk.  This  should  be  Crampton’s  beat.  {Gives  a peculiar  whist 
and  enter  a Detective,  R.  ist  E.)  Take  the  fastest  Hansom  you  can  fin 
tear  down  with  this  to  Beckham.  {Gives  note.)  Bring  the  old  gent  ba^ 
to  St.  Nicholas  lane.  Say  he’ll  be  wanted  to  make  a charge.  There’s 
crib  to  be  jumped.  I ’m  down  on  ’em.  By  the  bye,  lend  me  your  bark( 
{Detective  gives  him  a pistol,  and  exit,  R.  ist  E.)  Jem  Dalton’s  a touj 
customer.  I always  feel  rather  ashamed  to  burn  powder.  Any  fool  c. 
blow  a man’s,  brains  out.  {Tries  caps  and  charges^)  That  lad’s  tr 
blue  after  all.  I had  no  idea  that  he  tumbled  to  their  game.  He  ma 
aged  that  letter  uncommonly  neat.  Now  for  St.  Nicholas  churchyai 
When  Jem  Dalton  planted  his  tools  ne  never  thought  they’d  come  up  dc 
hies. 

Enter  May,  breathless,  R. 

May.  I ’ve  followed  the  cab  as  far  as  I could.  I saw  them  get  out,  ai 
lost  them  at  the  last  turning.  If  I could  only  keep  them  in  sight — if 
could  but  hear  my  voice — Robert ! Robert ! \Exit 


iCENE  III.] 


TICKET-OF-Li.AVE  MAN. 


63 


CENE  III. — The  churchyard  of  St.  Nicholas'  with  tombstones  and 
neglected  trees;  wall  at  back,  L.  C. ; up,  side  of  stage,  L.,  an  iron  raiT 
mg,  supposed  to  separate  the  churchyard  from  the  street;  in  fiat,  R. 
C.,  the  wall  of  Mr.  Gibson’s  office,  with  practicable  back  door. 

(Dalton  and  Brierly  drop  over  the  wall,  L.  C.,  followed  by 

Moss.) 

Dal.  Now  to  transplant  the  tools ! {Gets  tools  from  behind  tombstone.') 
ill  right.  Moss,  look  alive ! Here ’s  the  door  and  the  keys. 

[Dxit  into  office  by  back  door,  R.  Q.,  followed  by  Brierly. 
Moss,  {on  the  look-out?)  Nice  quiet  place — I like  working  in  the  city ; I 
/ish  everybody  lived  out  of  town,  and  left  their  premises  in  charge  of 
heir  housekeepers.  (May  is  heard,  L.,  singing  the  refrain  of  her  song.) 
Vhat ’s  that  ? That  girl ! She  must  have  followed  us.  Here  she  is. 

Enter  May  in  the  street,  L. 

May,  {sees  Moss.)  Oh,  sir,  you  were  with  him ! where  is  he  ? 

Moss.  I ’m  just  taking  a little  walk  in  my  garden  before  retiring  for  the 
light ; they ’ve  gone  on  to  the  Cave  of  Harmony — first  turn  on  the  left ; 
here ’s  a red  lamp  over  the  door ; you  can’t  miss  it. 

May.  Oh,  thank  you — thank  you  ! S^Exit  L.  2d  E* 

Moss.  That ’s  neat ! Trust  old  Moss  when  anybody ’s  to  be  made  safe. 

(Hawkshaw  during  the  above  has  dropped  over  wall  at  the  back, 
seizes  Moss  from  behind,  stops  his  mouth  with  one  hand,  and 
handcuffs  him,  R.) 

Itir  or  speak,  and  you  ’re  a dead  man ! 

Dal.  {appearing  at  back  door.)  Hang  the  cloud  ! I can’t  see.  Moss ! 
Hawk,  {imitating?)  All  serene ! 

Dal.  {coming  down?)  We’ve  done  the  job.  {Calling  to  Brierly.) 
I^Qw,  the  box.  , 

Bri.  {within?)  I ’ll  bring  it.  {Comes  from  door  with  cash  box?) 

Dal.  We’ll  share  at  the  Pigeons,  in  Duck  Lane.  The  box  ! quick! 

I Bri.  A word  or  two  first. 

Dal.  We  can  talk  in  the  cab. 

. Bri.  No,  here.  You  were  my  ruin  four  years  ago. 

Dal.  I ’ve  paid  you  back  twice  over  to-night.  Come,  the  box. 

Bri.  I suffered  then  iox your  crime.  Ever  since  you’ve  come  between 
ne  and  honest  life — you ’ve  broke  me  down — you ’ve  brought  me  to  this. 
Dal.  I suppose  you  mean  you ’ve  a right  to  an  extra  share  of  the  swag  ? 
Bri.  No,  I mean  that  you’re  my  prisoner,  or  you’re  a dead  man. 
[Seizes  him  and  presents  pistol?) 

Dal.  Hands  off,  you  fool ! 

Bri.  Nay,  then {Snaps  pistol?) 


64  TICKET-OF-LEAVE  MAN.  [ACT  I 

Dal.  You  should  have  asked  me  for  the  caps.  Here  they  are.  (Hoi 
them  up^ 

Bri,  No  matter ; armed  or  unarmed,  you  don’t  escape  me.  {A  stru^ 
^le — Dal.  strikes  down  Bri.  as  Hawk,  rushes  from  his  concealment,  i 

Hawk,  Now,  Jem  Dalton ! It ’s  my  turn ! 

DaL  Hawkshaw ! 

{They  struggle;  Hawkshaw  is  forced  down  on  the  tombstone 
nearly  strangled;  Sam  appears  outside  the  rails,  L.,  springs  ov 
them,  seizes  Dalton  by  the  legs  and  throws  him  over;  HaW] 
SHAW  rises  and  puts  the  handcuffs  on  Dalton  ; May  appears 
the  street,  L.) 

May.  Robert!  Husband! 

Sam,  {over  D ALTON.)  Lie  still,  will  you.^  You're  a nice  young  ma 
{Crosses  to  R.,  looking  over  Moss.)  You  're  a pair  of  nice  young  men  ! 

Hawk,  Now,  Jem  Dalton!  remember  poor  Joe  Skirrett — I promis 
him  I’d  do  it.  I 've  done  it  at  last. 

Enter  Mr.  Gibson  from  back  door  of  house,  followed  by  May,  who 

gone  round, 

Mr,  G,  This  way ! Here  they  are ! The  safe  open ! The  cash-box  gort 

Hawk,  No,  saved.  {Gives  it  to  him?) 

Mr,  G,  By  whom  } 

Hawk,  The  man  who  is  bleeding  yonder,  Robert  Brierly. 

May,  My  husband — ^wounded  ! Oh,  mercy ! {She  kneels  over  him?^ 

Mr,  G,  Thank  heaven,  he 's  not  dead.  I can  repay  him  yet.  ' 

Hawk,  Men  don’t  die  so  easily.  He ’s  worth  a dozen  dead  men.  \ 

May,  Look— he  opens  his  eyes.  Robert,  speak  to  me— it ’s  May— y(^ 
own  wife. 

Bri,  {faintly?)  Darling,  I ’m  glad  you  ’re  here.  It ’s  only  a clip  of  % 
head.  I ’m  none  the  worse.  It  was  all  my  game  to  snare  those  villain 
Who’s  there?  Mr.  Gibson!  You  wouldn’t  trust  me,  sir,  but  I was  r 
ungrateful.  You  see,  there  may  be  some  good  left  in  a ‘‘Ticket-0 
Leave-Man,”  after  all.  {Tableau?) 

Hawk.  May.  Bri.  Gibson.  Moss.  Dalton.  Officers.  Sam 


THE  END. 


Successful  Plays  for  All  Girls 

In  Selecting  Your  Next  Play  Do  Not  Overlook  This  List 

YOUNG  DOCTOR  DEVINE,  A Farce  in  Two  Acts, 
by  Mrs.  E.  J.  H.  Goodfellow.  One  of  the  most  popular 
plays  for  girls.  For  nine  female  characters.  Time  in 
playing,  thirty  minutes.  Scenery,  ordinary  interior.  Mod- 
ern costumes.  Girls  in  a boarding-school,  learning  that  a 
young  doctor  is  coming  to  vaccinate  all  the  pupils,  eagerly  con- 
sult each  other  as  to  the  manner  of  fascinating  the  physician. 
When  the  doctor  appears  upon  the  scene  the  pupils  discover  that 
the  physician  is  a female  practitioner.  Price,  15  cents. 

SISTER  MASONS.  A Burlesque  in  One  Act,  by  Frank 
Dumont.  For  eleven  females.  Time,  thirty  minutes.  Costumes, 
fantastic  gowns,  or  dominoes.  Scene,  interior.  A grand  expose 
of  Masonry.  Some  women  profess  to  learn  the  secrets  of  a 
Masonic  lodge  by  hearing  their  husbands  talk  in  their  sleep, 
and  they  institute  a similar  organization.  Price,  15  cents. 

A COMMANDING  POSITION.  A Farcical  Enter- 
tainment, by  Amelia  Sanford.  For  seven  female  char- 
acters and  ten  or  more  other  ladies  and  children.  Time,  one 
hour.  Costumes,  modern.  Scenes,  easy  interiors  and  one  street 
scene.  Marmn  Young  gets  tired  living  with  her  aunt.  Miss 
Skinflint.  She  decides  to  “attain  a commanding  position.” 
Marian  tries  hospital  nursing,  college  settlement  work  and 
school  teaching,  but  decides  to  go  back  to  housework.  Price,  15 
cents. 

HOW  A WOMAN  KEEPS  A SECRET.  A Comedy 
in  One  Act,  by  Frank  Dumont.  For  ten  female  characters. 
Time,  half  an  hour.  Scene,  an  easy  interior.  Costumes,  modern. 
Mabel  Sweetly  has  just  become  engaged  to  Harold,  but  it’s  “the 
deepest  kind  of  a secret.”  Before  announcing  it  they  must  win 
the  approval  of  Harold’s  uncle,  now  in  Europe,  or  lose  a possible 
ten  thousand  a year.  At  a tea  Mabel  meets  her  dearest  friend. 
Maude  sees  Mabel  has  a secret,  she  coaxes  and  Mabel  tells  her. 
But  Maude  lets  out  the  secret  in  a few  minutes  to  another 
friend  and  so  the  secret  travels.  Price,  15  cents. 

THE  OXFORD  AFFAIR.  A Comedy  in  Three  Acts, 
by  Josephine  H.  Cobb  and  Jennie  E.  Paine.  For  eight  female 
characters.  Plays  one  hour  and  three-quarters.  Scenes,  inter- 
iors at  a seaside  hotel.  Costumes,  modern.  The  action  of  the 
play  is  located  at  a summer  resort.  Alice  Graham,  in  order  to 
chaperon  herself,  poses  as  a widow,  and  Miss  Oxford  first  claims 
her  as  a sister-in-law,  then  denounces  her.  The  onerous  duties 
of  Miss  Oxford,  who  attempts  to  serve  as  chaperon  to  Miss 
Howe  and  Miss  Ashton  in  the  face  of  many  obstacles,  furnish 
an  evening  of  rare  enjoyment.  Price  15  cents. 

THE  PENN  PUBLISHING  COMPANY 

PHILADELPHIA 


The  Power  of  Expression 

Expression  and  efficiency  go  hand  in  hand. 

The  power  of  clear  and  forceful  expression  brings  confi-^ 
dcnce  and  poise  at  all  times — in  private  gatherings,  in  public 
discussion,  in  society,  in  business. 

It  is  an  invaluable  asset  to  any  man  or  woman.  It  can  often 
be  turned  into  money,  but  it  is  always  a real  joy. 

In  learning  to  express  thought,  we  learn  to  command 
thought  itself,  and  thought  is  power.  You  can  have  this 
power  if  you  will. 

Whoever  has  the  power  of  clear  expression  is  always  sure 
of  himself. 

The  power  of  expression  leads  to:  1 

The  ability  to  think  '‘on  your  feet”  ? 

Successful  public  speaking  ^ 

Effective  recitals  i 

The  mastery  over  other  minds 
Social  prominence 

Business  success  ? 

Efficiency  in  any  undertaking  J 

Are  these  things  worth  while? 

They  are  all  successfully  taught  at  The  National  School  of 
Elocution  and  Oratory,  which  during  many  years  has  dc 
veloped  this  power  in  hundreds  of  men  and  women. 

A catalogue  giving  full  information  as  to  how  any  of  thes<* 
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THE  NATIONAL  SCHOOL  OF 
ELOCUTION  AND  ORATORY 

Parkway  Building  Philadelphia  I 


I 


